


Foundations of Rubble

by Rae_Stickler



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Adult Content, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Psychological Drama, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-06-06 02:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 126,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae_Stickler/pseuds/Rae_Stickler
Summary: After the release of "Humanz," Murdoc Niccals finds himself creatively impotent and actively withdrawn from the band that's already struggling to hold itself together. One fateful night, his world collides with Cal Rivera's, who faces similar creative demons, and the spark of their companionship breathes new hope into everyone involved. However, the traumatic events of Murdoc's past and his present addictions make it hard for him and Cal to transition smoothly into a mutual future - if one is even in the cards for them.





	1. Chapter 1

            **Part I.**

           The drizzle was steady – not enough to require an umbrella but enough to annoy anyone standing under it for a time. Returning his pack of cigarettes to his back pocket, Murdoc sighed in exasperation, not because of the rain but because it was pointless to try to light up, and right now he needed a smoke. Pulling up the collar on his leather jacket, he proceeded across a street, the bottoms of his Cuban-heeled boots clapping along the asphalt. It was a familiar street to him though he couldn’t remember its name. He remembered it because of the shanty neighborhood off to his right, in even more decay by some unlucky punishment. To his left was an old ceramics firm, where across its massive double doors hung an ‘Out of Business’ sign made from a wooden plank and shaky red-painted lettering, illuminated under the dim light of a rusting lamppost. Tufts of unkempt foliage lined the building, gripped the lamppost, made him wary about where to step lest he become entangled and left to rot with the rest of the dying ornaments that reminded him that he was home – if home was what it could be called.

            A couple passed him on the sidewalk, sharing an umbrella, shifty-eyed and hushed, their cadence nearly inhuman. He grimaced in their direction, dug his hands deeper into his jeans pockets and remembered the only thing desirable about his journey: past the shitty primary school, tucked into the corner near the Whelan Discount (which was also abandoned, having closed with he was 12), there was a beam of hope called The Three-Legged Pig, or The Pig, as he often referred to it. He recalled the owner, a Dutchman by the name of Bram – _was it Bram?_ He rolled his eyes. Who cared? If it was still open, it didn’t matter what poor soul inherited the shithole. All he needed was a glass of whiskey, an empty stool and time … a fuck-ton of it.

            In his pocket, his cell phone pinged. Maintaining his pace and casting a quick look around, Murdoc grabbed the phone, its blue light blasting him in the face.

            _This twat_.

            Across the screen was a text from ‘Faceache,’ which read ‘U still alive?’

            Murdoc smacked his thumbs at the screen with aggressive fervor. ‘Unfortunately, yes, given current circumstance. Fuck off.’

            Replied Faceache, ‘Wanna make sure U R fine.’

            ‘Bloody walk, mate. Nothing more.’

            ‘In the Potteries.’

            ‘Go have a wank, 2D. You need to recharge the batteries. The ignorance is showing.’

            ‘Fine, Muds, but call if U need help.’

            At this, Murdoc chuckled. ‘The help I need you aren’t qualified to give.’ He added a ‘Piss off, wanker,’ and shoved the phone back into his pocket, switching it to vibrate in the process.

            Passing the darkened primary school, Murdoc quickened his pace, realizing the marketplace across the street was especially quiet, the overhead streetlamps blinking in an ominous way.

            “Fucking place better be there,” he groaned through gritted teeth, swatting the rain as he strained to see the state of the shops through the drizzle.

            Whelan Discount was much of the marketplace, mostly a void of a backdrop. A couple of abandoned cars sat in the car park, stripped of most of their parts. The Pig was just around the corner, to the right of Whelan … _right?_ Biting his lip, he proceeded. _C’mon, gimme one, for once._

            Turning the corner, Murdoc slowed his pace, his shoulders relaxing. Running a hand over his dark fringe to smooth down his now water-logged hair, the pep returned to his step as he crossed the street to The Pig, whose barely visible outer walls in the darkness offered that much needed hope in the form of a dim Open sign casting a lethargic glow of neon blue light – if it could be called neon anymore. Despite the lack of energy, Murdoc could smile he was so happy for such a poor sight. The paint was chipped, the underlaying wooden panels exposed and bloated from the weather. One of the hooks holding up The Pig’s sign barely clung to the hook screwed into the corner of the sign, the thing dangling lopsided overhead. Noticing this, Murdoc stealthily darted through the heavy door, not ready to be the one unlucky bastard taken out by the pub’s sign all in the name of some shitty whiskey.

            The welcoming aroma of cigarette smoke and alcohol and staleness overcame his nostrils, and he inhaled the filth, absorbing its ability to calm his tired muscles with silent thankfulness. Even better (and expected) was the fact that he was one of five people in the place. Two men sat at a table tucked in the back, almost as weathered as the walls, speaking quietly as they glowered at the bar, where a woman straddled a barstool, her movement boisterous as the barkeep absently cleaned off a pint glass with a dirty rag. He knew in an instant she was drunk by the wide range of motion in her gestures, the way she spilled beer from the bottle in her other hand, the slurred American accent – the fact that she was drinking Corona in the first place. Still, there was plenty of room for him to spread out, grab some drinks and silently sulk into the wee hours of the morning, before slinking back to the hotel in Manchester with the rest of the band. He was sure in a few hours 2D would text again, maybe grow some balls and even call him to inquire about his state of mind, if he’d been pickpocketed yet, killed someone, impregnated some poor bitch, yada yada yada. 2D’s list of questioning was never ending, and nowadays Murdoc’s ability to provide sufficient answers was becoming a chore. Though he’d never admit it out loud, he kept his phone in his pocket on the strongest level of vibration in hopes that those abundant messages would come. Despite 2D’s ability to be the most irritating being in Murdoc’s existence, it kept Murdoc from completely going over the edge on his benders. It reminded him that, through all this bullshit, he was still looked after in some way. And, in some way, someone needed him, even if that person was 2D.

            _Do not EVER say those words aloud_ , he chided himself, making his way to the bar. _Especially in front of 2D. The twat would never let you hear the end of it, probably con you into some kind of awkward hug or something equally insulting._

            Dodging the arm of the drunk American, Murdoc leaned on the bar, the barkeep casting a harsh look at him.

            “Shut it for a sec, Cal.” To Murdoc, “Whaddaya want, mate?”

            “Whiskey,” Murdoc commanded, forcing a wad of cash across the sticky bar top. “Best to just give us a glass and the bottle, _mate_.”

            His upper lip twitching, the barkeep turned away, grabbing the money in the process.

            “It _is_ best,” chimed the American. Murdoc turned his head to her, envying the honesty of her current state. “I finished his only bottle of Southern Comfort earlier.”

            “Southern Comfort?” Murdoc took the glass and bottle of whiskey from the barkeep, pausing only to let the American know he heard her.

            She crossed her legs on the stool and held up the Corona for Murdoc to see. “That’s why I moved on to my _other_ lord and savior, Señor Corona. I told Roberto –”

            “Albert,” the barkeep corrected with blatant irritation in his tone.

            The American nodded, holding up her hands in silent apology. “ _Albert_ , I told him that Southern Comfort needs to be a thing here in Britain … England? Fuck, in this place, ya know?”

            In any other situation, Murdoc would have pulled up a stool, coerced the girl into joining him in a bottle of whiskey, played his best moves and taken her back to the hotel to fuck. And her being an American girl would have been an effortless job. Despite the green tint of his skin and the years he had on her, his “accent” and occupation left him feeling like a revolving door most of the time, and most of the time, he was okay with that. He had no desire to settle down, to have kids, to do anything other than create music in some form, to say something of significance no matter the consequences, to bleed his ideals through the media to whomever was smart enough to listen. Even with the chains of his purpose, it was nice to indulge the flesh every now and again, to feel another’s touch, to hear the words that everyone – even someone like him – yearned to hear: I want you, I need you, can I give you a blowie? He enjoyed the company and the possibility that maybe the feelings each party expressed in those sudden bursts of passion held some ounce of truth, though it was a long shot. When he was younger, those expressions were always a lead on to make the other person feel better about the situation, so as to not come off as a completely selfish asshole. He figured this gesture was unnecessary anyway; no girl ever asked for a diamond ring afterward, just cab fare. Sometimes one would ask for his phone number, hoping to turn a one-night stand into a double-night, maybe even a triple. He tried to be kind but honest. It wasn’t a surprise that Murdoc Niccals was honest, especially when it came to saying no to things he didn’t want to do, and girls who were fans of his band were well aware of what they were getting into if they found themselves in his bed. If they wanted a mint on the pillow and post-coitus cuddling, he sent them in 2D’s direction. Otherwise, it was a “thanks for the good time, I’m off to the loo,” and when they’d left, he’d shower, have a nightcap (or more) and pass out at some point into the next day.

            In this moment, all the bullshit of one-night stands was lost in the rain outside the bar. Murdoc had not come for anything of the sort – he came for the booze and the quiet, and that’s what he meant to do. He wasn’t sure if it was the impending realization that he’d be fifty-one soon, or the recent melancholy that had gripped him for some reason, otherwise causing him the longest drought of impotency of his life. The worst was that mentally, he didn’t seem to crave that soft touch either. His body and his mind were working against him, and he had no idea why. An internal war had started and his existence was caught in the crossfire, concerned that maybe it would never cease. He wanted to fuck someone, but he didn’t want to go through the effort. He wasn’t in the mood to chase anyone, which depressed him greatly. He was a perfect predator, and yet, even when approached about the topic from willing participants, he couldn’t get it – anything – up. He couldn’t think about anything sexy to say. He couldn’t make himself pretend. All he wanted to do was drink and figure out why his existence was drying up.

            Musically, he was becoming the same way. He hadn’t been able to focus on writing. Even when practicing the older hits, he was having a hard time hitting the right chords, causing the band to question his ability. It was hell. He was used to condescending remarks from Russel, the overbearing coddling from 2D and curious side glances from Noodle, but as of late, none of them left him alone about it. Russel was convinced he was on something harder than his daily packs of smokes and booze, having already threatened him about his “junk” poisoning the band. Russel chose to overlook 2D’s flirtation with painkillers, citing that even on something, he was still functional as their lead singer. But when Murdoc was off, he was off, and it was noticeable. 2D seemed to be convinced that Murdoc was dying or thinking about committing suicide, hence the amount of concerned texts. And Noodle … well, Murdoc knew Noodle was concerned, too, even though she didn’t say much about it. She didn’t say much anyway, at least to him, but he’d noticed that she cooked him food randomly, even left it outside his door when he was passed out from a night of drinking. Sometimes he found paper cranes around his room, folded from textured pink paper with hearts and other doodles etched into them. He never thanked her for them or chided her for going into his room without his permission – not because she wasn’t young enough to be scolded by any of them anymore, but because she was the last person he wanted to stumble upon something unpleasant in his room. He knew he should eventually acknowledge the niceties because, whether she knew it, it had become a game he played when alone, trying to spot the newly introduced crane in the room, but thanking anyone for anything was a process for him. It was probably the gender thing, maybe the age thing – some stupid _thing_. Whatever the case, Murdoc didn’t want her to be tainted any more than she already was by his messy existence. It was a wonder she functioned as well as she did with him in her life … _poor girl_.

            The more these thoughts paraded around his head, the sadder he became, completely aware that sex was not an option for him, and giving the American girl a curt nod, he took his bottle and his glass, and sat himself in a booth in the opposite corner of the two glaring men, obviously offended by the cheery storm the American threatened the otherwise gloomy atmosphere of The Pig with.

            At the bar, Cal the American shrugged off Murdoc’s quick departure and returned to Roberto – _was it Alberto? Who the fuck cares?_

            “What was I talking about again?”

            “Dunno. I stopped caring after your second Comfort drink,” Albert returned, wiping the bar top around her.

            “That’s … honest,” said Cal, nodding in approval. “Ya know, in America, bar people just nod and smile, but you, you keep it real.” She waved the Corona over her head. “Cheers to you, Alberto!”

            “Albert.”

            Cal sloshed the rest of the beer down and set the glass onto the bar a little too hard. “Oops. Sorry man.” Adjusting herself on the stool, she remarked, “I really wish you had more Southern Comfort though. But I’ll take another.”

            “I’m fresh out of that piss.”

            Cal blinked, digesting his words. “What the fuck is this shit, Robert?”

            “Albert.”

            “What the fuck is this shit, Albert? I’m so disappointed.”

            “Welcome to Stoke-on-Trent,” chimed Murdoc from behind her. Clinging for life to the bar top, Cal turned to see Murdoc downing a glass of his whiskey, almost half the bottle gone. “Land of infinite disappointment and general disregard for human decency.”

            “I came here to escape that shit,” Cal announced in his direction, taking the bottle of booze Albert handed her. Without looking at it, she took a swig and then spit it out across the bar. “What the fuck is this?”

            “Homemade disappointment,” replied Albert. “It’s the house brew.”

            “It tastes like shitty toilet water,” she grimaced, wiping her tongue on her sleeve. “What’s the alcohol percentage?”

            “10.”

            Impressed, Cal chugged the bottle, crinkling her nose as the bitter liquid ran down the back of her throat. Coughing out the last bit and wiping the dribble off her chin with the back of her hand, she returned the bottle to the bar top. From behind her, Murdoc slowly clapped.

            “Well, well, I’m impressed.”

            Blinking several times and steadying herself on the stool, Cal cautiously turned her head around to see Murdoc highlighted in a warm glow of lamplight from overhead. He wore a black tee under his leather jacket, dark-wash blue jeans and black boots. His dark eyes were rimmed with the effects of sleep deprivation and the oncoming swell of his whiskey, just below a waterfall of bangs from his otherwise messy bowl-cut hairstyle. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust on him, wondering if maybe one of the Beatles had wandered in, considering she was somewhere in the UK or England or … well, it didn’t matter anyway, they were dead, weren’t they? The tint of his skin color was also confusing, as were the sharp black nails (with red pinky nails) on the spider-like hands he had wrapped around his glass, but the more she focused on him, the more she realized he looked completely at home in this place. His feisty smirk confirmed it.

            “You talking to me?”

            He nodded. “You’re the only person in this bar I think could keep up with me.” He patted the chair next to him. “Can I interest you in something more … appropriate for the job?”

            Taking a deep breath, Cal stood from the stool, smoothed out her jean shorts, zipped her black hoodie all the way up and made her way to him with strategic foot placement, plopping into the seat opposite him.

            “How’ve you not frozen?” Murdoc asked, noting the lack of pants, as he filled the glass and slid it to her.

            “Man, I had no idea what to expect weather-wise here.” Cal took the glass and she and Murdoc clanked it and the whiskey bottle together before taking long sips of the drink. Coughing, she covered her face in her sleeve until it passed. “I just bought the ticket and showed up.”

            Taking another chug at the bottle, Murdoc questioned, “You _willingly_ came to Stoke?”

            Cal nodded as he poured her another glass. “I came to Manchester and ended up in Stoke-on-Trent. I told the cabbie I wanted cheap entertainment and he dropped me here.”

            “You must be daft or looking to get mugged. Probably both, I’d say.”

            Cal glared at him. “Try it, asshole.”

            Murdoc chuckled. “My aim tonight is to get as drunk as humanly possible – not harass the unfortunate tourists who find their way in this shithole.”

            “If you hate it so much, why’re you here?”

            This wasn’t a question he wanted to answer. Sniffing, Murdoc hid himself from it by polishing off the bottle. As he swallowed, he held the empty bottle up, waving it about for Albert to sneer at. “Another glass, too.” He turned back to Cal, who observed him under heavy eyelids. “You’re not going to quit on me now …”

            “Cal,” she said, more alert than she let on. “And don’t ask me what it’s short for because I hate my name and it’s stupid.”

            “Your name is stupid or your reasoning?”

            She narrowed her eyes at him. “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”

            Grabbing the glass and the new bottle of whiskey from an annoyed Albert, Murdoc continued, “Y’know, you speak quite well for an intoxicated American.”

            “And you embody all of the pompous bullshit I expect from an Englishman,” she replied as Murdoc topped off her glass. Clanking his, she gave him a wink and took a sip.

            Clicking his tongue behind his teeth, Murdoc sat back and swirled his whiskey, eying her. “Honestly, I had no intention of indulging anyone tonight, but since your deafening antics can’t be shrouded by my drinking, I’ve decided it best that you entertain me with how the hell you ended up here.”

            Cal sat stunned by his remark, unsure whether to be offended by his crassness or relieved that honesty still existed in the world. Regardless, she wasn’t that easy. “Listen, you motherfucker,” she pointed at him with an adamant finger, “I don’t have to you indulge you with anything. I came here with the same intention as you tonight: to get completely shitfaced in peace. And if my way is too loud for your precious green ears, you can get the fuck out. I was here first.”

            “I’d rather you both get out, you’re both quite annoying,” chimed in Albert from the bar but they ignored him.

            Murdoc tipped his glass to her, surprised by her ferocity. “Fair enough, Cal. Can I ask, then, what you’re lamenting?”

            “What I’m lamenting …” She took the glass and pounded it, bringing it down to the table. “Well, fuck, where do I start?” She laughed at this, leaning back in her chair. “Jesus, Greenleaf –”

            “Murdoc.”

            Cal winced. “‘Murdoc.’ Goddamn, that’s a name.”

            Murdoc waited for a moment. Cal sat there, unfazed.

            “Murdoc Niccals.”

            Slowly, a smile overcame her face.

_This is it, here comes the ‘wanna get drunk and fuck, Mr. Gorillaz?’_

            “‘Murdoc Niccals,’” she repeated, and then burst out laughing. “Holy shit, and I thought my name was intense. Yours … goddamn, yours is very English.”

            In a way, Murdoc was happy that she didn’t recognize him. At least now the pressure was off and he could be himself without having to live up to some preconceived standard she’d have about him. It would be drinking and conversation – noise from her side, alleviating him from stewing in his thoughts.

            “Well, Cal, now that you’ve offended my forefathers, what are you lamenting?”

            “I, Murdoc, am lamenting the downfall of all that is organic and true in this world,” Cal replied, clutching the front of her jacket. “I’m lamenting the death of beauty, and honesty, and the commodification of creative genius in this colorless world.”

            Every intention Murdoc had about letting her ramble on about how she was dumped by some douchebag in America and how she’d never find love or something stupid like that as he drank himself into oblivion shattered around him. He sat forward in his chair, convinced she was actually a mind reader, scared that she could read the concern on his face. He placed the whiskey to his lips, inhaled it, hoping this would somehow make him drunk enough to not care about her words, her valid lamentation that he did not want her to continue on about, but none of it was possible. Before she could really make a fool out of herself, Murdoc was hooked on her words. He glanced around, sure 2D was going to jump out at him from behind a bar stool, proud that he’d finally cracked Murdoc. Of course, that didn’t happen.

            Cal laughed, sitting the whiskey glass down. “Not even five minutes and I’ve already struck out. Thanks anyway, man.”

            “Wait – what?” Murdoc said with alarm as he watched her attempt to stand.

            “No one understands,” Cal told him. “Their eyes glaze over, like yours. I’m a mess, not a regular mess, but a mess no one wants to wade through. It’s all good, I get it.”

            “Don’t leave.” The words came out suddenly, and Murdoc barely noticed he said them. “I mean, I’m interested in your issue. You see, I’m in a band, and sometimes … I feel like that, too.”

            Cal raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down as though inspecting his credentials and fell back into the chair again. “Let me guess …” She pursed her lips and tapped at them with her finger in exaggeration. “Bassist.”

            Murdoc eyed her. “How’d you know?”

            “The brooding stare, the black hair, the inverted cross. You’ve got coming-off-aloof-but-actually-an-attention-whore written all over you.”

            Again, Murdoc relaxed at the fact that she didn’t say she knew because she read about him on gorillaz.com.

            “You’re certainly astute. Journalist?”

            “Writer.”

            “Is that not the same thing?”

            “Fuck no. No one tells me what to write.”

            “Touché.”

            “ _That’s_ what I’m lamenting, Murdoc, my basic right to write as I please.”

            “Not following.”

            “I was gang-banged back home.”

            “And you hope to seek therapy through writing about it?”

            “No – I mean, my story was. By some Hollywood assholes.”

            Murdoc cringed, understanding her immediately.

            “You see, I wrote a novel and it was picked up by a publisher. It started to sell and I was happy considering my message wasn’t as tainted as it could have been by editors. It even got picked up by a studio, hoping to turn it into a movie.”

            Murdoc refilled her glass.

            “They really wanted it once the numbers came in from a younger demographic – you know, the severely impressionable ones who eat up without shame the shit you slap glitter on. Well, they tell me they’re gonna make the novel into a movie and I’m stoked because I’ll actually see my message come to life for an actual audience … like maybe I’ve created something of value. Something raw that the world will ingest and learn from. But when I go to the meeting, those assholes _fucked the shit_ out of my plotline, the ending, _the characters_. They completely destroyed the meaning of the story, wanted to hire a bunch of pretty, unscathed actors, cut my main female’s lines down to the bone … fuck, Murdoc, they had ideas for merchandise – _merchandise!_ My story about suicide, about cutting, about finding a goddamn way to save oneself from the mental anguish of daily life was gonna be plastered onto _fucking backpacks and key chains_. My entire life’s work has been stripped of all her dignity, finger-fucked in the ass by The Man. No lube, no love, no goddamn mint on the pillow. They wouldn’t even let me consider the rewrites. They basically told me to sign over the rights and inherit a fuck-ton of money, or walk away.”

            “Well, what did you do?” asked Murdoc, anxiety coursing through his inebriated veins.

            “Are you fucking kidding? I walked away. I took the shitty draft they had, ripped up what I could before security was called, and dumped it in the fountain in the assholes’ conference room. I mean, I still have my book but … I’m scared now. I’m scared of what they could do with my idea, especially if they tweak it and try to market it as their own. They could do that, ya know? They could make a shitty mirror version of it and sell it, and profit off that counterfeit version of _my_ life’s work.” She sighed, leaning on her arm to support her head as the booze became liquid metal in her veins. _Don’t start crying, you dumb bitch_. Forcing a smile, she shrugged and finished off the last of the whiskey in her glass. “Bukowski was on to something, ya know. He just wrote and drank, and didn’t give a fuck about anything. I hate being human.”

            Murdoc wanted to say something to ease her pain, not necessarily for her sake, but for the cause. He understood exactly how she felt. It was a scary place to be in as an artist. He even wanted to ask her more about the novel, but he figured it was too soon. So, avoiding the pressure to stroke her bleeding heart, he asked, “So why Manchester?”

            Cal shrugged. “After all that, I took my book advance and bought a one-way ticket to Paris, hoping that a change of scenery would help me mentally. Maybe start another book. Maybe channel a little Hemmingway or something. I have a shitty draft and the money’s running out … so I looked for something cheaper and headed out this way. Once I got to Manchester, I started thinking about what to do next. Usually when I’m depressed, the writing comes easily but I think I went a bit overboard hopping the pond. I’m learning shit here and battling all of this anger at the same time, caught between awe and rage … and while I’m not necessarily one to need companionship, it’s been a little lonely.”

            “No family, eh?”

            “They don’t understand. They aren’t used to this mess –” Cal gestured to herself. “They’re concerned with my sister’s residency at some hospital and the nieces and nephews she keeps popping out with her rocket scientist husband or whatever. They’re all Malibu trash.”

            “Where’s that?”

            “California.”

            “Ah, California. I only know Los Angeles. And Hollywood.” A bitter taste overcame his mouth, and he washed it down with another shot of booze.

            “I was born in Malibu but as soon as I could leave, I did. Spent a few years in San Pedro, eventually saved up enough to find a decent studio in Venice. I love Venice.” A smile overcame her face, one which Murdoc noticed immediately. “A lot of weirdos, but hardworking ones. It was nice.” Her smile dropped as she continued, “Then I met a surfer named Ryan – dumb fucking name, right? Typical … anyway, I shacked up with him for a hot minute, to save on money and … well, to have fun with. And it was fun but it was also very obviously going nowhere. Ya know, that fucker never once asked to read any of my work? Anyway, I was with him when I finished the book, and then all this shit happened, and then the fucker tells me that it wasn’t meant to be and that I should get a real job … and he offers me a spot at this surf shop he was working at.” She sat up in her seat, suddenly alert as her metal limbs melted into magma. How her rage didn’t burn through the rickety table upon which they rested was beyond her. “Now don’t get me wrong, Niccals, I’ve done my share of odd jobs. I’ve never held down a job long enough to get medical benefits – well, maybe once. But still, for someone like _him_ , a moronic deadbeat to tell me it wasn’t ‘meant to be’ after Hollywood contacted _me_ , I. Was. _Livid_. So livid, I threw his favorite board off the balcony. Shit cracked right in two. I’ve never seen a grown man cry so hard over foam.” She chuckled in bitter triumph as Murdoc poured her the last of the bottle. “What a bitch.”

            “And now you’re here.”

            She nodded. “Actually, I just used the last of the money to buy a plane ride back home. My friend in Pedro needs a house sitter while she’s in the D.R. for a month, helping a sick relative. While I’m there, I’m gonna try to figure my shit out. Find my own place, find some kind of work … try again with this novel bullshit.”

            “But not Hollywood?”

            “Nope,” she replied confidently. “I’d sell my soul for another bottle of Southern Comfort before willingly giving my mind to those cunts.”

            “I think that’s brilliant. Realistically stupid but morally genius nonetheless.”

            “I’ll take that wild sentence as a compliment.”

            “You should. Compliments come few and far between from this old mouth.”

            Cal chuckled.

            “Speaking of, shall I get us another?”

            She held up her hand to him. “Listen, Murdoc, I may be drunk and poor, but I’m no charity case. Roberto!” She snapped her fingers above her head. “Another round, on my tab.”

            “You don’t have a tab – _and it’s Albert!_ ”

            “Right! But you know I’m good for it. How long have I been coming here?”

            “Three days too long!” Grumbling, Albert rummaged through his store to locate another bottle of whiskey.

            Cal turned back to Murdoc, grinning. “He’s been such a great friend.”

            Murdoc couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face. Her words were becoming slower, heavier, and the muscles in her hand strained harder to keep her chin up. He guessed she was at least in her later twenties, athletic build despite the frequent alcohol consumption, large brown eyes, dark hair she kept in a messy bun atop her head. Her fringe hadn’t been trimmed in a while and fell into her eyes and down the sides of her freckled cheeks. He noticed a large tattoo on the outside of her left thigh, a beach piece which fit her well. He could tell she had another along her clavicle but couldn’t see what it was because of the jumper she wore. The blue nail polish on her fingers was almost nonexistent. She wasn’t the most well-endowed in terms of her bust size, but her legs were long and she had nice hips. The curvature of those hips freefalling into those legs was … pleasant.

            Murdoc ran a hand over his face, shaking those thoughts out of his mind. _No, no, no. Not tonight. Not like this_. The voice in his head was odd, foreign. Who the fuck was he becoming?

            He returned to her mouth, the part of her face that captivated him most, where all those words fell out in an eloquent rush of booze-induced thought – it was a conundrum he’d never faced. Okay, so she had been burned by a guy, but that wasn’t the point. The point was she was scorned by the abuse towards her art, and if anything could give him wood right now, that was it. It had been a long time since he’d met a kindred spirit in that essence, and as Albert sat the bottle of whiskey down between them, Murdoc felt the urge to ask her a hundred more questions before the booze eventually took its toll on her. After all, she was right: she had been there first, and she was way ahead of him in the race to oblivion.

           This led him to his next predicament: if she did decide to go, or if she passed out, or _if_ she made a pass at him, what was he to do? As a general concern and knowing the danger of traveling alone in the middle of the night in Stoke, it seemed a terrible idea that he should let her walk back to wherever it was she was staying by herself, especially dressed the way she was. She could get kidnapped … or catch a cold. He could take her back to his hotel room, too, to let her sleep it off … or let her fuck him … or jerk off to another one of her spiels on art, while staring down the length of those legs. Or, he could do the right thing and let her do as she wished, and continue on his mission to get fucked up by himself in The Pig until 2D came to his rescue.

_Goddamn it. God, you sonofabitch, this is all you, innit? All I want to do is decay in peace …_

            The clanking of Cal hitting the neck of the whiskey bottle against his glass brought him back. She grinned at herself, quickly shrugging it off as some whiskey ran down the outside of the glass, and then pushed it towards him. She raised her glass.

            “To you, Murdoc Niccals, for listening to my bullshit as this old spinster descends into madness.” Cal tossed the entire glass back before Murdoc could even lift his own. Waiting for her to swallow, he finally brought the drink to his lips, considering her words. _Spinster_.

            She laughed, somehow reading his mind. “Was that, like, English enough?”

            “Spinsters are usually old.”

            “Yeah, well, this spring chicken is … _clucked_.” Again, she laughed harshly, her eyes becoming slits on her reddened face.

            “Love, with all due respect, you’re a child.”

            His comment sobered her up for a moment, the offense crossing her face. “Fuck you, Niccals, I’m not a kid. I’m thirty-two.”

            Now it was Murdoc’s turn to spit his drink. “Thirty-two?” He chuckled, remembering when he was thirty-two and Gorillaz was still in its infancy. “I pegged you at twenty-five, twenty-eight tops.”

            “Yeah, I’m sure you’d peg a twenty-something.” She grinned at him, more impressed by her own joke.

            “And I’m sure in your spinster state, you’d love a good pegging, regardless of age.”

            “I don’t know, I associate penises with Ryan right now, and I don’t know if I’m ready to … ride that wave again for bit.”

            Murdoc tried to roll his eyes at the pun but instead laughed. It was probably the whiskey finally getting him to that impressionable point where all reason doesn’t exist anymore. As much as he loved intellect and prided himself on his smarts, he _loved_ this state. Ignorance meant not caring, and right now, he didn’t want to care.

            Cal reached for the bottle of whiskey but it slipped from her grasp, Murdoc’s single ability in his drunken state allowing him to catch it before it cracked upon the table. She blinked at him and then at the bottle and then back at him, sighing a gentle, conflicted sigh before leaning away from all of it.

            “I’m getting sloppy,” she told him, and stood on wobbly legs. “I think that’s my cue.”

            Murdoc took a shot of whiskey to ease the sting of those words. He felt foolish for feeling this way, knowing damn well this transaction should have never taken place. Maintaining an even tone, he asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

            She nodded, pulling the hood over her head with clumsy accuracy. “Murdoc Niccals, I appreciate your time and your company and the shitty whiskey. But now,” she feigned a terrible French accent and bowed to him, “I bid you adieu.” Standing tall again, she saluted him. “Adíos, amigo. I’m going to go throw up outside.”

            With that, she turned on her heel and headed towards the door, taking only a moment to face a reddened Albert behind the bar. “Don’t think I forgot about you, bestie. I’ll be back tomorrow with some more cash.”

            “Do me a favor and take the cash and go back to the bloody States where you’re wanted.”

            Cal held up a middle finger to him and pushed herself through the bar door. Murdoc was sure she fell on the way out but if she did, it was just outside the door, out of sight. Immediately, he jumped up, then considered this gesture. _Just let it be, Niccals_. Ah, that voice! It was hers, saying his name in that slurred American accent. At the very least, he wanted to make sure she made it into a cab. Grabbing the whiskey bottle, Murdoc headed to the door, Albert calling to him from the bar.

            “Don’t do it, mate, she’s mental. Nearly started a fight with some patrons last night over how to pronounce ‘tomato.’”

            “Sounds like fun,” Murdoc spat at him. “Be back in a tic – save my seat, _mate_.”

            He pushed through the door just as Cal was puking into the shrubbery against the wall of The Pig. He stopped, giving her space, as he listened to the last of the contents of her stomach come up, a sound all too familiar. She was crouched down, holding herself around the chest. Instinctively, he wanted to at least touch her shoulder, assure her that she wasn’t alone, the way 2D did sometimes with him. He’d usually bat him away to save face, but sometimes he’d pretend to be so fucked up that he’d let his bandmate’s hand linger. 2D was an annoying bugger, but he was also very comforting, and sometimes Murdoc needed that.

            “Y’okay?”

            Spitting a final time, Cal nodded. She stood up, brushed her bangs back, and slowly turned to him. Murdoc could read the embarrassment in her eyes, but he knew she wasn’t that easy. Placing her hands on her hips, she chuckled to herself.

            “I tried to make sure it was out of the way. I’ve totally slipped in puke before. It’s not fun.”

            “Right …” Murdoc glanced around. “Listen, I know a thing or two about this place, and while I don’t mean to cramp your style, I’d like to make sure you at least get home okay. Are you within walking distance?”

            “Manchester, remember?”

            “Right, right.” He wasn’t ready to end his night, but he also didn’t want to her end up the victim of some cabbie murder case. Clutching the bottle tightly at the neck, Murdoc carefully approached her. _Don’t sound stupid, Niccals._ “Cal, please don’t think I’m trying to get in your knickers or anything – not that you’re not fuckable or anything –”

            “What a gentleman,” Cal remarked with an overabundance slurred of sarcasm. She crossed her arms over her chest, her gait slightly off.

            “I’m actually staying at a hotel in Manchester with my band. If you’d like to share a cab, I’d pay. Really, I just want to make sure you make it into something safe. I mean not to demean your obvious L.A. street smarts or whatever, but this is a hard neighborhood.”

            She seemed unconvinced. He sighed.

            “I’m from here.”

            Her expression softened. Then, she gave him a faux look of concern, clasping her hands together and walked to him, Murdoc instantly moving away, knowing exactly where she was going with this.

            “You’re a charity case, too? Aww …”

            “I’m not a bloody charity case, _you_ are.”

            “Help me, handsome prince, save me from the dumps of this godforsaken squalor.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead, then laughed and stumbled forward, Murdoc catching her, holding her a safe distance away from him. She continued to laugh, steadying herself. “Americans are so stupid.”

            “They’re … interesting.”

            She moved out of his grip and wiped a tear from her eye, turning back to the street. “Okay Niccals, you win. Get us a cab to Manchester.”

            Behind her, a small smile crossed his face.

* * *

            In the time it took for Cal to vomit two more times and for Murdoc to finish off half the bottle, the cab finally showed, and Murdoc and Cal retreated to the backseat. She laid against the cigarette-tarnished fabric with her eyes closed and her lips parted. Murdoc leaned away from her, his head against the window, staring out at the brightening of the night as they neared Manchester, sipping on the bottle and finishing two cigarettes before he realized he had no idea where Cal was supposed to go. As they neared his hotel, he nudged at her, asked her where she was headed, but she didn’t respond.

            _She’s fucking dead_.

            The cab driver glanced back at him in the rearview mirror, and Murdoc shrugged at him. “Just drop us at my stop.”

            The driver raised an eyebrow and Murdoc glared at him. Maybe in the past this would have been an opportune time for something magical to happen between him and a girl. He’d been good at rousing them to offer sex, to which they’d accept with sloppy yet adamant effort. But he didn’t want that. He was over the stupidity of it, and blacking out seemed far better a venture. Besides, Cal was tired, emotional and needed sleep. If he’d been in her place, he hoped that that Murdoc would have respected him in that way. Also, sex after vomiting was a danger zone Murdoc had crossed on a few occasions and it _never_ ended well no matter how hard he’d tried to disprove that theory.

            The driver stopped at the hotel and Murdoc paid him. He moved around the outside of the cab to Cal’s side, opened her door and tried a final time to rouse her. “Any chance you can walk, love?”

            Cal’s head lulled to him and her irises revealed themselves between heavy eyelids. “Yes … tacos … extra cilantro.” Her eyes disappeared again.

            Murdoc looked to the bottle, sure he couldn’t carry both it and her, and downed the last of the whiskey, dropping the empty bottle into the gutter. Steadying himself, he pulled Cal out of the back of the cab and, with much effort, carried her into the lobby where, to his relief and annoyance, 2D grabbing snacks from the vending machine.

            “Oy, wanker, a little help!”

            2D turned and gasped. “Oh, not again, Muds!” Dropping his snacks, he rushed over and helped Cal down out of Murdoc’s grasp, the girl leaning against him as she mumbled incoherently into his chest.

            “Are you fucking mental?” 2D questioned, realizing the girl was passed out. “That’s _illegal_.”

            “I’m not going to touch her, you demented twat,” Murdoc seethed, pulling Cal back to him. “I just need your help carrying her to my room so she can sleep it off. You’re going to give me your bed.”

            “We’ll share.”

            “Fine. But I swear to Satan, 2Dipshit, if you even so much as breathe in my direction, I'll smother you with a pillow.”

            “You know that won’t work, Muds, I’ve perfected my breath-holding time.”

            Murdoc slung one of Cal’s arms around his shoulder, 2D taking her other side. Together, they carried her to the lift, where the silence of the elevator overcame them until 2D could no longer take it.

            “Thought you went to Stoke.”

            “I did.”

            “Then where’d you find her?”

            “In a pub in Stoke.”

            “Why the fuck was she in Stoke?”

            “It’s a long fucking story, wanker, and I’m tired.”

            After a pause, 2D chimed, “She’s quite pretty. Not really your type, though.”

            “Hardly. She’s a rowdy American.”

            “Blimey, in a pub in Stoke. Poor thing.”

            “I think I egged it on a bit. I felt bad, hence the reason she’s here.”

            “That’s awful nice of you.”

            “I’m an awful nice guy.”

            The lift doors opened and the two carried Cal down the corridor to room 306 – Murdoc’s room. Fumbling for his room key, Murdoc shoved it into the slot and the door opened, Murdoc and 2D moving inside. Carefully, they crossed the space to the disheveled bed, stepping over Murdoc’s clothes, shoes, and empty beer cans strewn about the floor. 2D released Cal and Murdoc laid her in the center of the bed on her side, 2D covering her with the sheet up to her neck. They stood there for a moment, Murdoc watching the sheet rise and fall with every breath Cal took, 2D watching Murdoc watch Cal. Sensing the two voids of 2D’s face on him, Murdoc snapped his head in 2D’s direction, causing him to wince.

            “The fuck’s wrong with you?” Murdoc hissed, grabbing some clothes off the floor and tossing them haphazardly into one of his suitcases.

            2D watched him, tapping absently at his side. “You just seem different is all. It’s been that way for a while now, but … I don’t know.”

            “You never know.”

            “Need help?”

            “I’m just … I just don’t want her to get tangled up in this shit when she leaves in the morning.”

            “It is the morning.”

            “Fucking hell, you know what I mean.”

            “Just leave her a note to come to our room tomorrow before the interview. That way you can say bye.”

            Murdoc snapped up, holding a shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. “And why would I do a thing like that?”

            “She’ll be hungry. Perhaps she’ll wanna grab a bite.”

            “You’re always hungry, you take ’er.”

            “She’s your friend.”

            “I’ve known her for three hours, idiot.”

            “Still, maybe she’ll want to thank you. Or maybe she’ll want a shirt. I brought a few extra for the interview, for the hosts. But maybe I’ll have extra.”

            “She doesn’t know who I am.”

            2D’s eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “She doesn’t? You mean to tell me she willingly drank with you … as _you_?”

            Murdoc glared at him.

            “I didn’t mean it like that, Muds! I just meant … you ’ad a real conversation. It’s hard to come by those nowadays.”

            As much as Murdoc wanted to throw something at 2D’s face, the man had a point. Still, he could never admit that. Grunting, Murdoc took the shirt and underwear, and moved towards the door. He stopped only when he noticed 2D leaving something under Cal’s arm.

            “Leave her alone, she needs sleep.”

            2D stood and smiled down at her. “It’s just my room number. I also left your cell number, just in case she misses us.”

            “You didn’t need to do that. I already know where she’ll be if we _needed_ to see her again.”

            “Where?”

            “The Pig in Stoke.”

            2D nodded. “Perhaps after the interview we can all pop by!”

            “You’re an idiot, 2D,” Murdoc announced as he held the door open for his bandmate, 2D crouching to go under Murdoc’s arm. They both moved to the next door over, 308, and 2D opened his room. The younger man entered the door, going on about how it’d been a while since he, Russel, Noodle and Murdoc had all been out for a drink together and how that would be fun, but Murdoc lingered in the doorway for a moment, wondering if he should have at least left Cal a glass of water. 2D always left him a glass of water on the nightstand after a bender but … if he did so now, he’d never hear the end of it from 2D. Suddenly, the man would be planning Murdoc’s wedding, giving middle names to his nonexistent children, creating spreadsheets on how to save money for each child’s uni tuition.

            Murdoc, hearing 2D in real life and in his head, rolled his eyes and let the room door close behind him with a snap.


	2. Chapter 2

           Cal rolled over, her arm hitting the wooden headboard. The distinct _thunk_ shook her awake, and she sat up quickly, the immense pain of her head reminding her that whatever happened last night involved a lot of booze. Blinking several times, her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, though she was confused. This wasn’t her room. Looking down her front, she was still in her hoodie, could feel the discomfort of having slept in her jean shorts. The only things that had been stripped off her were her shoes, which she found placed neatly at the base of the nightstand next to the bed. A glass of water sat there as well, two pills which she assumed were aspirin and a plate of hotel pastries from the continental breakfast selection. Under the plate was a folded-up note. Taking a final glance around the room, she noticed an opened suitcase overflowing with jeans, assorted shirts and jackets, most of it in black. A bass guitar sat along the chair near the window, its case leaned up against the wall. Noticing a stray beer can near the trash, she realized whose room this was – Murdoc Niccals’.

            She checked her clothing one more time to make sure that he hadn’t been too crafty about redressing her if they’d had sex, but she couldn’t find anything out of place. It was hard to believe that someone like him wouldn’t jump on the opportunity – she hated to think that but she also knew how she could be drunk, and he seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed the company of women from the way he spoke to her with such assurance. Thinking back on the evening as she popped the pills and downed the glass of water, she recalled that he hadn’t told her much about himself but seemed eager to share a cab with her. Maybe he was trying to be nice … maybe.

            Her eyes fell to the plate of food and while she wanted something to eat, she grabbed the note tucked under it.

_Cal –_

            _Should you feel so inclined, me and my bandmate are literally next door and wouldn’t mind your company. However, we will be leaving just past noon for a meeting, and won’t be back until this evening. Feel free to stay as long as you like, though I understand if you wish to leave. Either way, it was nice to meet you._

            _If I don’t see you before you go, I wish you the best in your fight against The Man. He’s a right cunt. Hope to catch your novel someday._

            _– M. Niccals, Aloof Bassist_

            Cal chuckled, rereading the note. His cursive was messy but readable. She turned the paper over and realized he hadn’t left a number or anything to contact him, and while a part of her wanted to wait around for him, mostly for the company, she didn’t want to intrude, especially because he wasn’t alone. Sighing, she folded the note back up and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. _Noon_. Cal glanced at her watch: 3:36pm. _Fuck_.

           “Well, Rivera, you missed the boat.” Cal swung her legs over the bed and bent over to grab her shoes, noticing some shredded-up paper laying partly under the bed. Disregarding it, she tied her shoes and grabbed a pastry, giving the room a final look before shakily making her way to the door. Outside, the corridor was quiet. She glanced at room 308, noting the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the handle. Looking back, she realized Murdoc left one on his door. Two other doors across the hall had the same ornament. With another bite of pastry, she pulled out her phone and summoned a cab.

            The drive was thirty minutes of quiet in which she leaned her forehead against the window, the cool glass helpful with her headache. She spent the time recounting what she could of the night, remembering what he looked like under the shitty lighting of the bar, the way he drank whiskey like it was water, the distinct conflict of manners and fuck-all gusto that played out in his posture and the way he held his glass. When she recalled his voice, she told herself to get a grip, that thinking about him was useless. She was never going to see him again and even if she did, it didn’t matter. She’d be flying back to the States to figure out her life. The last thing she needed was something else to concern her, to distract her, especially if that something was a man.

           What she needed to worry about was where she was going to live in a month and where she’d find work. Worst case scenario, she’d have to shack up with a friend, but there was still the employment process. She had a couple of ideas about where to apply, though the idea of joining the workforce again depressed her. Real life felt so mundane. Really, she wanted to lock herself in a room and write, bust out an entire novel again, and feel that immense satisfaction of exorcising the emotions she kept locked up in her being. Writing was like being in a relationship, starting with the excitement of flirting with an overall idea, the pleasure of finishing specific scenes, and then the downward spiral of finding contentment in the words and fighting with oneself about staying focused, pushing through the wall, and eventually finding that happily ever after in crafting the perfect ending – whether happy or tragic. She preferred tragic endings. They were more real, and despite her love of fiction, she always wrote realistically. If there was anything Cal was not an expert in, it was those fantasy worlds were people met, fell in love, conquered some bad force together and rode off into the sunset. Cal wrote about what she knew, and riding off into some sunset had yet to occur, and she knew it probably never would.

           What she did know about was disappointment and the constant battle of climbing up a never-ending avalanche. She knew about being alone and about being told what she couldn’t do, as well as what she _should_ do. Her parents and sister were quick to diagnose her at holidays and other occasions in which she was coerced into spending time with them. They all hated the fact that she dropped out of community college to write, considering she came from a family rooted in the medical field, except her mother’s sister Lily. Lily had been an artist, her house more of an art studio than anything else. She painted and made ceramic pieces, and whenever a younger Cal would visit, she would craft stories about her aunt’s artwork. Her mother was never impressed by Lily’s techniques, quick to state how sloppy the acrylic hardened on the canvas, but Cal couldn’t understand why her mother didn’t feel the way she did whenever she sat with a piece. It was more than aesthetics; it was the underlying emotion and silent display of Lily’s mood in each piece that captivated Cal, like a secret language that only a few could understand.   

           Lily didn’t live in a large house in Malibu like Cal’s family. She lived in a small space in Venice Beach, the “slum of the West Coast” as her parents deemed it in quiet jest when they assumed Cal couldn’t hear. That was where Cal had wanted to end up one day, in a small but loved space in Venice, surrounded by art and her writing and the books of her favorite authors. Lily wasn’t there anymore, Cal only able to visit her muse at Rose Hills in Whittier. She was the only one who did, realizing this when her long decayed flowers were a wilted mess on her aunt’s gravestone. It didn’t surprise her. Lily left this life behind by means of an intentional overdose, and Cal’s parents were extremely religious, convinced that the devotion to her art did her in. Of course, this enraged Cal. She knew Lily had a plethora of mental issues she used art to attempt to transcend. And while her passion couldn’t cure the illness she never sought medical treatment for, Cal knew that most of the time her aunt was happy with her life. She was surrounded by what she loved, and that’s all that mattered.

_There’s always going to be ugliness in this world, Cal, but you use that ugliness to paint a better picture. Without the pain, we wouldn’t know pleasure, and without the ugliness, we wouldn’t know beauty. Accept the balance and carry on._

           Her mother didn’t want Cal to read those words left in the letter that was found addressed to her when they came to collect the last of Lily’s belongings but Cal managed to find it and read it anyway. She intended to tattoo those words in her aunt’s beautiful cursive when she had the money, but for now the letter was stored safely in a journal she had at the hotel. She carried the letter and journal everywhere with her. Lily would have supported her trip to the UK. She would have supported her decision not to sign the rights for her book over to the Hollywood executives, and she sure as hell would have helped her through this depression on her plight to write something truthful.

           Her head pounded heavily as her hand slipped over her face, the tears falling freely now. Her heart hurt from the idea of having to endure reality without the wonder of being inspired. Nothing caused her mental anguish the way creative impotency did, and the feeling of failure seized her as she cried into her hands, unaffected by the stares of the cabbie at her through the rearview mirror. He asked once if she was okay, but her silence made him aware that he needn’t ask again. He did open the cab door for her, though, when they got to her hotel. She tipped him a couple of bucks she knew she could spend on booze, but she felt bad that he had to endure her crying.

           Heading up to the room, she decided she needed to shower and change her clothing. She smelled like vomit and cigarette smoke. She figured she’d take a nap, grab something to eat at one of the little shops nearby, hail a cab and then head back to The Pig. The booze was cheap there and the place was always empty, and something about Stoke-on-Trent called to her.

           In the shower, she broke down again and sat against the wall, crying into her arms as reality reared its ugly head at her.

           “Get a goddamn grip,” she chided herself, eventually standing herself up.

           She retreated to the bed naked, throwing herself under the blankets, and fell asleep.

* * *

On the other side of town, Murdoc pulled out his cell phone and glanced down at the time. 18:36. Behind him was the incessant chatter of crew personnel as they started to break down the stage, Noodle and Russel still on the couch talking to the hosts, more than likely about things other than music the way they all stared at each other with such intent. The last time Murdoc had seen 2D he was talking up one of the makeup artists over a jelly donut, bragging about his extensive geode collection at Spirit House. Murdoc cocked an eyebrow at this thought. He couldn’t understand how 2D was thick enough to believe  _anyone_  would be interested in hearing about geode rocks, let alone actually collecting the damn things.

           This irritation was cut short as Murdoc caught a flash of blue entering his peripheral vision. Snapping his head up, 2D stopped in front of him, with a donut in each hand, staring down at Murdoc’s phone. His black eyes widened.

           “Did she ring?”

           “What?” Murdoc snapped, shoving the phone into his back pocket.

           “Cal. Did she ring ya?”

           “No, no, why would you think that?”

           “Well, I left your number …”

           “So?” Murdoc growled at him, 2D flinching at the sudden elevation of his voice. “We’re not all stalkers like you, calling strangers we’ve just met.”

           “It’s not stalking, it’s polite!”

           Murdoc narrowed his eyes at him, trying to figure out how to respond without it sounding like it was a big deal – because it wasn’t. Murdoc had no intention of hearing from her again. Still, he knew 2D wouldn’t drop the subject until his curiosity had been satiated, and so he relaxed, telling himself to calm down to avoid any further altercation that might pique the interest of Noodle or Russel. That last thing he needed was a larger audience about something that really meant nothing, no matter how it appeared.

           “I ripped up that note you left.”

           2D’s expression softened. Quieter, he asked, “Why’d you do that?”

           “Why the fuck shouldn’t I? She’s leaving for the States. It’s not like we’re gonna be here forever either.”

           “We coulda had a little fun, though. Met a new friend.”

           “She wouldn’t have liked you. She’s intelligent.”

           2D crinkled his nose. “Don’t be a prick, Murdoc.”

           “Well, you stop being such a knob.”

           “You both cut it out.” Noodle stepped between them, her back to 2D, securing the hem of Murdoc’s jacket collar between two brightly polished fingers. “Are you behaving?”

           “Don’t waste your time,” chimed Russel, approaching the group.

           Murdoc gently removed Noodle’s hand, lingering around it to give it a gentle squeeze. “Come off it, love.”

           “You promised.” Her words were hushed but firm. “You’ve been better lately, but only because you’ve been withdrawn. I don’t like it.”

           “I don’t like the fact that you act like his human shield.”

           “I wouldn’t have to if you stopped behaving like a child, Rōjin.”

           As much as Murdoc wanted to tell 2D to fuck off, he couldn’t fight with Noodle, and he knew Noodle would take 2D’s side. While Russel had been the father figure in Noodle’s life, and he the twisted uncle (maybe it was more like grandpa, but uncle sounded so much younger), 2D had been the older brother who shared in that special sibling-type language he and Russel weren’t in on. He knew Russel didn’t care much; he just wanted peace. Murdoc didn’t care either, except when it got in the way of his aggression towards 2D’s idiotic ideas. When Noodle was younger, it wasn’t much of a barrier because Murdoc and 2D could label their fighting as ‘grown up time,’ which she didn’t understand. But now that she was twenty-six, she knew exactly what ‘grown up time’ meant, and she was the first to jump in to defend 2D with the strangest methods. In her younger twenties, she had no qualms with yelling at them both, though more so at Murdoc. Then, it was easy for Murdoc to dismiss her intrusion and retreat to his room to get drunk(er). Now, her methods had changed. He wasn’t sure how or why but Noodle’s approach was softer and confusing, with her frequent use of Japanese terms of endearment towards him (he wanted to be offended by being called “old man” but the gentleness with which she spoke the word made that impossible). Plus, with the food and the paper cranes, Murdoc was completely thrown off by her approach. He hated that. He didn’t know how to respond, and he hated being off his game. He’d never yelled at Noodle, unless it was an elevated defense over the group’s bantering at him, and he didn’t have any intention of doing so. He didn’t even like to be around her, not because of _her_ but because of _him_. Of course, he loved her for her talent and for the place she helped elevate the band to, but at the same time he couldn’t understand why someone with so much potential beyond music would stick around. She had 2D to confide in. She had Russel as a perfect mentor. Murdoc brought nothing to her life except turbulence – alcohol-induced turbulence and pain. She had to be crazy to want to stay … he’d made her crazy. This notion always forced him to back off.

           Grumbling, Murdoc turned away from the group, catching the distinct disappointment on 2D’s face.

           “Stop being a bitch, Muds. We were gonna go eat,” Russel called after him.

           Murdoc threw up his hand, dismissing the offer.

           “Do you want company?” 2D added.

           “Does it look like it?” Murdoc spat over his shoulder.

           “Will you ever?”

           Murdoc cringed at her voice. “I’m behaving. Keep an eye on the boys.”

           The group watched him pass through one of the exits, slamming the door shut behind him. Noodle turned to Russel and 2D, placing her hands on her hips.

           “Don’t sweat it, Noodle-Bowl, you know what it is,” Russel told her, placing a massive hand on her shoulder. “I thought the aging would calm his ass down, but it seems he’s going that feisty-convalescent route.”

           “I wish I knew how to help him,” she sighed, glancing back at the door. “It’s frustrating.”

           “The only way that’s gonna happen is if he wants the help. He don’t want shit right now, except to be a little bitch about everything.”

           2D wrapped an arm around Noodle’s shoulders. “I understand the frustration, I do. It’s like wanting to eat an entire box of donuts cos you crave ’em all, every flavor, but you know you shouldn’t cos that’s bad for you, but you really can’t decide on which _one_.” He sighed. “But Rus is right. He needs to want the help. However,” he perked up, giving her a playful squeeze, “there may yet be hope for ’im if he goes to a bar tonight … a _particular_ bar.”

           Now it was Russel’s turn to sigh. “D, we already talked about this. Wishes you make at 11:11 don’t actually come true.”

           “I didn’t do that this time.”

           “And that lamp you rubbed in Egypt, it wasn’t really from the Cave of Wonders.”

           2D released Noodle and glared at Russel. “Come now, you can’t tell me it was coincidence I rubbed that lamp and ten minutes later found twenty quid in the sand.”

           Russel chuckled. “You’re some kinda special, D.”

           “What is the point, Stu?” asked Noodle.

           “The point is, Murdoc met someone last night at a bar in Stoke.”

           “Oh, so you’re saying he’s cranky today because he’s coming off a romp with a crackhead.”

           “No, Rus, I’m saying she’s actually quite normal.”

           Noodle stared up at 2D. “You saw her?”

           “I helped carry her to the room.” 2D’s smile lined the entirety of his face.

           Noodle and Russel shot each other worried looks.

           “You know that’s … illegal, right?” replied Russel, adjusting the hat on his head. “I never considered you to be an accomplice to Murdoc’s shenanigans.”

           “Oy, fuck.” 2D shook his head. “Murdoc slept in my room. He gave up his bed last night to let this drunken American sleep off the booze. Real pretty girl, not very Murdoc-ish at’ll.”

           “You think they hit it off?” Noodle asked, sensing where 2D was going with this.

           2D nodded. “But see, I left his number for her this morning and he told me he ripped it up. That’s what we were going on about just before you lot showed up. I asked him why and he said cos she’s leaving but … I don’t know, the way he answered didn’t seem truthful. Still,” he held up his finger with serious intent, “there’s a chance she’ll be at the bar in Stoke tonight. I’m hoping that’s where Muds ends up. Maybe then they can hang out.”

           “And what, get shitfaced together?” Russel muttered. “Fuck behind a dumpster? 2D, I applaud your optimism but’s ill-placed, man. Any chick Muds meets in Stoke is only going to amplify his problem.”

           “No offense, Stu, but, women have never managed to make Murdoc see the truth about anything. He always chooses poorly.”

           “The chances of Murdoc Niccals scoring a dime piece is wishful thinking, D. No time or magic lamp’ll help.”

           “He listens to you, Noodle.”

           Noodle pursed her lips, eying 2D. “I hope you aren’t suggesting I vouch for her. I don’t even know her.”

           “But if you did …” 2D gave her a wink, to which Noodle shook her head.

           “We can’t interfere. It’s only going to piss him off, Stu. I can only be your human shield for so long.”

           “Fuck Murdoc, man. If he wants to act like a bitch, that’s fine, so long as he shows up to practices and concerts able to work. All that other shit, I don’t wanna know.”

           2D turned to Russel, pleading, “But we’re supposed to be a family, Rus.”

           “We’re supposed to be a band. This,” he gestured between the three of them, “became a family without him because he’s always out there being stupid. Murdoc don’t care about anyone except Murdoc, and if that’s how he wants it, that’s how he’s gonna get it. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

           2D considered this for a moment. Perhaps Rus was right to some degree but despite his willingness to give up on the old man, 2D knew better. He hadn’t seen Murdoc smile in ages, even his sadistic ones he gave 2D any time he plotted something against him. Murdoc was usually at a drunk to sober ratio of 75:25, but lately it was more like 98:2 – _that’s how ratios work, yeah?_ He couldn’t be sure but it sounded right. Anyway, Murdoc was starting to lock himself away to play records in his room, sometimes strummed his bass instead, only dressed when they had to leave the house, and they saw less and less of him at meals or other activities they planned together. In the past, Murdoc hung around with them, even if it was in the background, even sulked about it to some degree, though 2D was sure he wasn’t honestly upset about it. There were plenty of times in which he’d seen Murdoc laugh or smile, even get in on the jokes, especially if they were at the expense of 2D, but it seemed like those times were ages ago.

           Despite his unruly exterior, 2D knew Murdoc had something good within him still. He had the capacity to love and be loved to some degree, even if it was a mere flicker. 2D knew this because he cared for the bastard, through it all. He was an important corner in their obscure parental trifecta, a necessary one – even stale powdered sugar on a donut was worth chewing through to get to the jelly center, he knew. Murdoc had to have a jelly center. He wasn’t hollow no matter how much he let on that he was. 2D had to remind Russel and Noodle about this before everything they’d all built together – through good times and bad – crumbled.

           “Rus,” said 2D, “I know it seems as though we’ve lost Murdoc –”

           “Did we ever even have him?” Russel countered. “The bastard hit you with his car. Kidnapped me to get me into this band, man. Took Noodle in knowing damn well he could never be a father to her; he wanted her for her skills.”

           “Of course those’re all valid points, but there’s a decent tasting jelly in there somewhere.”

           Again, Russel and Noodle side-glanced each other, unsure where this 2D-tangent was headed.

           “Who taught Noodle how to tie her shoes?”

           “Those Velcro high-tops I bought her were cute, man! He also taught her every cuss word in the English language.”

           “And he gave you the biggest space at Kong so you could do your taxidermy.”

           “Yeah – and charged me a space fee.”

           “He gave me pointers on how to pick up women. And he plays video games with me. And he gave me my favorite pair of boots.”

           “He threw _his_ boots at you for touching them, and then said you could keep them because you fucked them up.”

           2D smiled weakly. “I still wanted them though.”

           “Alright, I see both sides of this,” Noodle interjected. “Rus, I know your frustrations and can understand your position of hopelessness towards Murdoc. And 2D,” she turned to him, offering him a small smile, “I know you see the light – er, jelly in all beings, as hard as that may be to find. You’re a warrior with that gift. But here’s my position on the matter.” She paused, both Russel and 2D watching her with expectant stares. Of course they wanted her to take their sides, but they also knew her views hardly every fully aligned with theirs.

           For Russel, even when Noodle didn’t agree with him on certain things, it was a proud moment because Noodle’s decisions were never from an ignorant place. If he’d taught her anything in their time together, it was that forming an opinion was work and had to come from a place of intelligent citation, research, and a moral stance. 2D helped with that in a way, too, at least with the moral part. 2D always saw the good in people, sometimes to a fault, and while it got on Russel’s nerves at times, especially regarding Murdoc, he appreciated the balance 2D’s character brought to them all. Russel would never deny 2D and Noodle as his family, but Murdoc … Murdoc was that enigmatic factor that constantly threatened their happiness, and that’s what pissed Russel off the most. Of all of them, 2D and Noodle deserved to be happy, and too often Murdoc made that hard. Russel didn’t want to see the old man slip into obscurity, nor did he wish him any harm but fighting for 2D and Noodle’s happiness took precedence over Murdoc and his selfishness. Russel stood strong in his position. If Murdoc couldn’t fight to better his situation, Russel wouldn’t. Too many other things were more important to him, and he couldn’t lose those things. So when Noodle’s lips started moving in response to her position, Russel was ready to accept it no matter what she said because she was the wisest of them all, having been brought up in a household like hers. She accumulated all of their wisdoms and experiences, and created from that an arsenal she personalized for herself – the most important and greatest ability he could have ever been a part of bestowing on her.

           Noodle continued, “We let him be. Murdoc is not stupid, but he’s blind, mute, resistant to truth. Maybe we consider 2D’s approach and make a little more effort at opportune moments, moments Murdoc extends – and only if he does so. But we also consider Rus’s side not to coddle him. At some point he’ll meet that intersection and will have to decide … and we can’t be a part of it. We set boundaries. Murdoc will always be the foundation of this family, whether or not we like it. Because of him, we all know each other. That’s the greatest thing he’s given us. And I hope one day he’ll allow himself to feel how we feel about that, but, he will need to figure that out on his own.” She paused again, having a personal thought as she looked away from them both.

           Both men noticed the conflict in her eyes, well aware of what she could be thinking about the situation, but wouldn’t say aloud. Yes, Murdoc was blind and mute and resistant but … at times, so were they, though Russel would never admit this.

           “I can’t say I’ll put my faith in Murdoc but I’ll put my faith in fate. I hope it works out, mostly because I don’t want to watch the consequences unfold.”

           Russel wrapped his arms around her. “This stuff with Muds has nothing to do with you. With any of us.”

           2D wrapped his arms around them both and buried his head into Russel’s shoulder. He knew it looked dumb, and the chuckling from his bandmates brought out the color in his cheeks, but it felt nice. _If only Muds liked to hug this way …_ Maybe one day they’d surprise him with a group hug … he considered this as they all released each other, and he caught a smirk from Russel. Russel wouldn’t want to be in on a surprise like that, and Murdoc would drown 2D before allowing that “prank” to come to pass. Still, even though they all weren’t blood related, he yearned for times like these, like how it used to be back home with his parents. He loved hugs, and he was sure Murdoc would love them too if he was hugged the right way by the right person … _That’s it!_

           “Let’s go eat,” said Russel, motioning them on. “I’m starving.”

           “Me too,” agreed 2D with pep in his step. Perhaps it was the idea of having dinner or realizing that he couldn’t leave Murdoc’s fate to … Murdoc, per say. Maybe wishes at 11:11 didn’t come true, and maybe that lamp he rubbed in Egypt was a fake (as convincing as it appeared), but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help fate move into the correct direction for his friend. He appreciated the strength of his friends but he couldn’t sit idly by wishing. He had to act, and if that meant igniting the flames of love to help Murdoc figure out what he needed, he was ready to accept such a quest. He could be strong, he had it in him. He’d show them – all of them – and maybe one day Murdoc would give him a hug of appreciation, a real hug, one without the intent to strangle or knee in the ribs. “I could eat twenty pasties right now.”

           Noodle gave him a playful shove. “When can’t you?”

           2D shrugged, giving her a toothy grin. They exited the same door Murdoc went through, carefully shutting it behind them.

* * *

           He heard them go but he didn’t show his face. Instead, Murdoc moved around the corner, leaning against the side of the building, and lit a cigarette as he heard 2D and Russel laughing at some unheard joke they all shared in. Murdoc’s upper lip twitched and he took a long drag of the cigarette, allowing the poison to fill his lungs, holding it there for a pleasurable moment, before finally blowing out the smoke in a long exhale. They were going to dinner, not only because they’d mentioned it in the studio but because he could hear 2D listing his favorite pasty fillings of all time – a list he’d heard time and time again, one which he could list back to him if 2D ever requested it. Not that he would. It was useless information that had been imprinted on his brain and wouldn’t leave.

           When he could no longer hear their voices, Murdoc turned the corner again and hailed a cab. He intended to ask the driver to take him to the closest pub when a thought crossed his mind … _no, it’s an hour away …_ He battled with himself until the cab arrived, scooting into the back seat and closing the door with a snap.

           “Where to?” asked the driver, giving him a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

           Murdoc hesitated. The easiest option would be to ask for the nearest pub, but more than likely it was close enough to just walk. Maybe he could ask for a specific pub? He recalled a decent spot in Warrington, which could justify the cab. But … he was very familiar with The Pig, and it was already just past seven … by the time he got down there, she might have already left. Maybe she didn’t go at all. Maybe she realized blowing the last of her money during the final part of her trip was a foolish idea, or maybe she was still utterly hungover and asleep in his room … or back at her hotel. _Fuck, this is bullshit_.

           “Oy, you there?”

           Murdoc narrowed his eyes at the rear-view mirror. “The Potteries.”

           The driver lifted an eyebrow and pulled away from the curb.

           Again, the drive was a quiet one, though Murdoc toyed with his phone instead of staring out at the city. He read an article about the upcoming shows the band had committed to in the States, which he was happy about. He wanted to get out of this area and back in the grind. He hated free time as of late. Free time allowed him to think, which frightened him into drinking, which made it hard for him to remember anything anymore. Life had become a series of inconsistent blinks in which he couldn’t keep up with the entire picture. He was awake for a moment, asleep for a while, until he couldn’t process the time of day or dates or anything unless someone reminded him about where he was. This was usually Russel yelling at him about band practice or going to interviews. 2D reminded him to get up at least once a day, peering his head into Murdoc’s room with careful concern, light tapping and a “care to eat?” Murdoc always threw something at the door because of the sudden brightness of light or he roared obscenities at 2D for disturbing his sleep, which was a lie because he was never really asleep. It was more of a trance, allowing his body some kind of recharge, though his mind was on overload twenty-four/seven. Still, he silently appreciated 2D’s daily rousing. It reminded him that through all of the bullshit he was still alive for whatever reason. It also reminded him that someone remembered he existed even though most of the time he didn’t feel like he did.

            Their laughter and talk of Cornish pasties rang in Murdoc’s head. It was so stupid, conversations about food. Eating was a good idea but drinking was fun. He didn’t know why but part of him felt bad for walking out so abruptly. He’d traveled so much with them but hadn’t really done anything with them except sleep across the hotel hall or show up to meetings and interviews. They’d played a couple of shows in which they all went out with the roadies afterwards for food and drinks. Murdoc accompanied only for the drinks and then skipped out to find less crowded bars with quieter music and spaces to hide away in to drink without distraction. 2D accompanied him sometimes, but he could never keep up. He knew how to drink, yes, but eventually he became too clumsy and giggly, and ended up his head on the table, Murdoc having to drag him back to wherever it was they were staying for the night in his own altered state. He usually left 2D by himself in his room, but sometimes Murdoc would stay with him, just to make sure the wanker didn’t drown in his own vomit. He’d listen to the sound of 2D’s breathing, hear him mumble, until he began to stir and Murdoc would fumble his way back to his room. He meant nothing by it except to make sure the singer was alive through the night. Maybe he envied the sleep the singer seemed to find. Maybe he was afraid 2D would find a way to OD on painkillers in his inebriated state. Whatever those impulses forced Murdoc to do, he was certain 2D wasn’t aware of his presence.

           Only one person ever saw Murdoc leave 2D’s room once, and that was Noodle. She was coming out of her hotel room at the same time as Murdoc nearly fell out of 2D’s. They’d both caught each other’s stare, their hands lingering on the door knobs, until Noodle gave him a smile and went on about her day, Murdoc stalking to his room in the opposite direction. They never spoke about it. She was a polite kid; he knew she wouldn’t say anything.

           It was an odd thing to feel obligated to someone, to feel wanted by them. He had no idea how he was supposed to react to it, having never known the feeling growing up, but when the notion surprised him every now and again from his band, it caused him great anxiety. He hated that about himself. Why shouldn’t he laugh down the street, talking about the weather and Cornish pasties? Why couldn’t he sit around the living room with Russel, Noodle and 2D, watching TV and having snacks? Why couldn’t he make himself feel what they felt?

_Because you’re mental. A mental, bitter old man._

           Murdoc ran a hand over his face. He didn’t want to think anymore. He wanted to drink. When they made it to Stoke, he led the driver to the neighborhood, paid him and stepped out into the night. There wasn’t any rain this time, thankfully, but he kept his jacket on, lit up a cigarette and walked down the street towards The Pig. His heart pounded in his chest. It annoyed him.

           “This was a shit idea,” he muttered, the cigarette clinging to his lower lip.

           Involuntarily, he slowed his pace as he turned the corner, the dim sign of The Pig blinking at him. A couple of cars were parked in front along the street. Someone stood outside against the wall, Murdoc only realizing this as he saw the glow from the person’s cigarette burn a bright orange as they inhaled. Murdoc reached for the pub door, side-glancing at the shadowed figure. It was an older man, eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. He turned his head towards Murdoc but said nothing. Murdoc kept his eyes on the man as he pulled the door open, suddenly regretting his decision to come. _But why? Just bloody drink, you fool, whether she’s here or not._ Grimacing, Murdoc stepped into the pub.

           A few more patrons were seated this time, talking louder and more animated. The leathery couple were at their booth in back. Finally, Murdoc’s dark eyes came to the bar. A man and a woman sat together with a pint each, smoking. Albert was behind the counter serving another pint of beer to … Cal.

           He couldn’t help it. It was completely stupid but his heart did something weird – a punch to the back of his sternum, and he smirked at the back of her head, then caught himself, shook his head and casually made his way towards the bar. She was going on again with Albert, who seemed bored by her speech about how inconsiderate The Pig was to not have Southern Comfort still. She only paused when Murdoc leaned on the bar top next to her, holding the cigarette between his fingers.

           Feeling a presence suddenly at her side, Cal stiffened, whirled around with an accusatory finger and cried, “Not this time, asshole!”

           Murdoc narrowed his eyes and gave her a grin, baring his teeth at her. “If not now, when?”

           Cal’s features softened and she started to laugh. “My, my, my – if it isn’t good old Prince Greenleaf!” She turned to Albert. “Albert, get this man a whiskey.”

           “Yes, your majesty,” Albert huffed, snapping the bar towel over his shoulder.

           At her side, Murdoc chuckled. “I see you’ve managed to get his name down.”

           “I’m not _as_ wasted tonight,” she replied and then gave him a wink. “But the night’s still young.”

           “Yes it is.” Murdoc took the drink from Albert and he clanked his glass against Cal’s. Taking a long swallow, he set the glass down and took another drag off his cigarette. “How was your night?”

           “I don’t know, you tell me,” she said, swirling the golden liquid around in her glass. She didn’t look at him. “I was … under your care.” She took a drink.

           “Only until we left you in the bed.”

           Cal put her glass down. She turned to him, alarmed. “‘We?’”

           “I employed the services of my bandmate to assist taking you up to the room,” explained Murdoc. “It was hardly a gangbang, trust me.”

           “It would’ve been a threesome,” she corrected. “Jesus, that’s embarrassing.” She paused. “Why didn’t you just take me to my hotel?”

           “You never told me where you were staying, and you passed out. You were like a corpse.”

           “Fine, Niccals. I accept your help, and your aspirin and your comfy bed.” She gave him a smile and then finished off the rest of the pint.

           Murdoc chuckled. “How much catching up do I ’ave ahead of me?”

           She set the glass down and waved to Albert. “I’m two in.” She waited for Albert to return while Murdoc sipped on his whiskey. When she had another beer in her hands, Cal drew shapes in the condensation on the glass with her finger. Finally, she asked, “You left me that note but no number – why?”

           “Oh.” Murdoc finished the whiskey. “Thought I ’ad.”

           “Meh, no worries,” she waved the comment away. “I left late in the afternoon. Had to get the lovely stench of vomit and cigarettes out of my clothes. Enjoy your sheets tonight, man.” She nudged him with her elbow, and Murdoc couldn’t help but notice that she was in a fresh pair of jean shorts, a black blazer and a white Deftones tee shirt. Despite the chill of the evening, Murdoc noted the flip-flops she wore, metallic silver polish on her toes.

           “You really are an American,” he cracked, and Cal followed his gaze down to her feet.

           “Screw you, Niccals.” She shoved him again, and he caught her before she slipped off the stool, steadying her. She laughed. “You’re really an Englishman with your … your accent and … those boots.”

           “They’re Cuban.”

           “And that mop top.”

           Murdoc rolled his eyes. “Is that the best you can do, Cal?”

           “With the current brain cells intact, yes.” She turned to him on the stool. She noticed he was standing between her and the stool behind him. “Sit down, Niccals, stay a while. Unless you’re aiming to be an aloof bassist tonight, in which case I’ll wave to you from the bar. I can’t leave my bff Albert-o-rino – he keeps me happy with his shitty booze.” She raised her glass to Albert, who shook his head and continued wiping down the counter.

           “You see,” Murdoc sat back onto the stool, a foot on the floor and the other resting on the bottom rung, “while I’d love to slip into obscurity by my lonesome, watching you make a fool of yourself sounds much more entertaining.” He took a final drag off his cigarette and smashed the end of it into a dirty ashtray on his other side.

           Cal smacked her lips, her face growing serious. “‘The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.’” She caught his stare from the corner of her eye. “Am I foolish, or am I wise?”

           “You’re a paradox, Shakespeare.”

           “Lucky guess.”

           “I am English. Fun fact, the old bastard’s birthplace is not too long a drive from here.”

           “Oo, are you trying to seduce me with literary facts, because that would be a first.”

           Murdoc rolled his eyes. “You said you’re a writer …”

           “Hardly. After all that nonsense I told you about I haven’t been able to write shit. Well, except the shitty draft, but I’m about to toss it. Not a poem … not even a doodle. I’m like an old, impotent man, standing on the other side of a brightly decorated window display of Viagra, only I can’t get in.” Cal rested her forehead on her palm, closing her eyes. She could feel the welling of emotion threatening to rear its ugly head. _Don’t. Even. Think. About. Crying._ She moved her tongue over her lips and popped her eyes open, forcing a smile, which became an awkward laugh, and she looked at the pint in her hand. “Goddamn, what does he put in these drinks?”

           Murdoc knew what she was doing. As much as he wanted to move away from a situation in which Cal started crying – because at that point he was certain he’d be lost as to how to deal with that – he was genuinely rueful for her. Feeling like a failure, especially when it was about one’s passion and craft, was a horrible place to be in; he knew from experience.

           “Cal …” he sighed, gritted his teeth, and then continued, “Hey, you can’t let it get you down. So you’ve hit a wall. Big fucking deal. You don’t get your writer’s card revoked over rubbish like that. You can’t just call on creativity … it’s born from something, and perhaps you just haven’t realized that something yet.”

           “I have an arsenal to pull from. A fucking list of significant scenarios.”

           “Whatever it is hasn’t come to pass.”

           Cal took a sip. “Thanks Galadriel. I’ll head back to the Shire with that ring of truth.”

           “As you should – _arse._ ”

           She gave him a wink and laughed into her glass. “But seriously, tonight can’t be about me. I’ve said everything there is to say. What about you? You said you’re from here?”

_Not this again_. Murdoc glanced down at the bar top but knew he’d eventually have to respond. “Eh, born, yes. I got out as soon as I could though. Told you, this place is shit.”

           “Does your family still live here?”

_Fuck_. “Well … yes. But … honestly, I don’t speak to them.”

           “Sounds like an epidemic.”

           “Not curable, I’m afraid.”

           “I getcha.”

           “Moved out of Stoke after I started the band. Been on the road ever since, though we currently stay in Detroit.”

           “Yikes,” Cal’s eyes widened. “From one dump to another.”

           Murdoc smirked. “I know how to handle the locals. We actually do have privacy, the lot is fairly decent size, very … animated. Not too many venture close. It’s quite nice, really.”

           Cal nodded. “You guys live together?”

           “It’s easier to record that way. Plenty of space, too, so it’s like living alone. We stay out of each other’s way, at least. I prefer it.”

           “A house of dudes. I can only imagine the clean up.”

           “Three of us, and a girl.”

           Cal eyed him, playful. “I don’t know whether to feel bad for her or impressed.”

           Murdoc shook his head quickly. “It’s not like that at all, trust me. She’s quite younger and it’s just … not like that at all.”

           “Sure.” Cal took another swig of the beer. “Moving on from your living situation, what else is there, Greenleaf? You hate this place so much but you drink here. That means something.”

           “Bollocks.”

           “Everything means something. Everything we do or don’t do has some intention.”

           “So, me lounging on the couch watching a bit of tele while scratching my balls means something, does it?”

           She nodded with genuine consideration. “It means you have an itch. If it persists, consult with your doctor. They make creams for that.”

           The chuckle escaped his lips. “Cheeky.” Thinking on her question for a moment, he absently swirled the whiskey in his glass. “The booze is cheap. It’s tucked away. I can get away from everything to think.”

           “Your adoring fans won’t find you here, huh?”

           He eyed her. She was staring up at him through half-opened eyes, her lips curled, her head weighty on her palm. “It’s easy to disappear in Stoke, whether you want to not.”

           “I hate to use this one, but, Niccals, you’re like an onion. _So many layers_.”

           “I suppose I should be glad you said that and not something like stinky.”

           Cal laughed, picked up her head and sat as upright as she could. She looked over her shoulder. “Hey, Albert-a-rino, dude – can you fetch me some water?”

           “Water?” Murdoc questioned as Cal turned back to him. “Don’t tell me you’re tapping out so soon, Cal.” There was a genuine heaviness that gnawed at him as Albert grumpily sat the water in front of Cal.

           She waved her hand at him, chugging half the glass in the other. “I’m not leaving, but I also don’t want to start puking so soon, either. I’d hate to end up in another sexless threesome with you, Niccals.”

           “‘Sexless’ and ‘threesome,’ two words that should never find themselves within the same sentence.”

           “Does that depress you?”

           “The sexless part, yes. Threesomes … meh, too much work.”

           “And this comes from your extensive knowledge on the subject?”

           Murdoc grinned at her, running his tongue behind his teeth. “Fifty years of life comes with experience, love.”

           Cal nodded, impressed. She raised her glass to him, which he clinked. They both took a drink. “Well, fuck, I can’t compete with that. You win.”

           He shook a finger at her, setting his glass down. “In the game of sex, there are no winners or losers, only the satisfied and the unsatisfied. Bullshit I did when I was younger may seem admirable, but if it’s not your thing, it’s not your thing, which does not place me ‘ahead.’ If you’re satisfied with the status of your love life, at least where it’s been, then who I am to say anything at all, except cheers.”

           “I wouldn’t say ‘cheers,’ but it hasn’t been horrible. So, yay for mediocre achievement.” She raised a shaky fist and polished off her beer.

           Murdoc shook his head. “That is truly the most depressing thing you’ve said all night.”

           “Even more than the whole writing shit?”

           “Sadly, yes. Writing effectively is a selective talent. For fuck’s sake, _every_ being on this planet should be able to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh.” He raised a fist heavenward and glared up at the ceiling. “Have you no mercy, you soulless twat?”

           Cal burst out into laughter and quickly clutched his upright wrist, pulling it down as she noticed others around the bar looking at them. He curled a lip at her as she held onto him, her laughter dying down as she realized she hadn’t let him go. Finally, she released him, and he rested his hand on his thigh.

           “Thank you, but I know how to fight my own battles, Sir Niccals.”

           “Don’t worry, he knows I’m into Satan, anyway. He wouldn’t do shit for me even if I asked.”

           “Oo, so dark,” Cal teased. “Dark _and_ aloof. An emo kid out of time.”

           “I really wish you wouldn’t degrade me so.”

           “Says the women you’ve been with.”

           “Low fucking blow, Cal.”

           She pinched his cheek and chuckled. “You can take it, Greenleaf.”

           His skin burned from where she pinched him, the sensation lingering as she moved away. Her hands were soft. “So, might I inquire as to when the US of A is finally ridding blessed Stoke of its favorite nuisance?”

           Cal clutched her chest and bowed. “Thank you, thank you. And I’m being deported on Monday. The boat sails at noon.”

           “So Albert and I have to endure this nonsense for another couple evenings?”

           “I’ll have no part of it!” Albert chimed from the other side of the bar.

           Murdoc watched Cal’s expression relax. She licked her lips. “Was that presumptuous?” he inquired, the heat overcoming his face.

           “Hey, if there’s a party, I’m down.” She looked back at Albert. “Albert, we should throw a party. We should have cake. And karaoke!”

           Murdoc cocked an eyebrow. “Oh lord, not you too.”

           “Me too?”

           “My lead singer loves karaoke. Actually, the whole band does. It’s deafening.”

           “Ah, well, I _love_ to sing.”

           “And what terrible musical choices do you make for such a shit activity?”

           “I _love_ to sing songs by Madonna.”

           Ah, Madge. I’ve a thing for the old bird.”

           Cal laughed. “I have a thing for her music. Especially her stuff from the late 80s/early 90s. ‘Bedtime Stories’ – great album.”

           “What other music are you into?” Murdoc inquired, purposefully wondering if she had figured out who he was yet. There was a part of him that believed she could be acting polite to keep the pressure off, or that perhaps she hadn’t heard of his band at all. The latter would be a first for him.

           “Oo, that’s a hard one … I’m very eclectic.”

           “Try me.”

           “I can do just about anything that isn’t country. I love rock music, though.” She gestured at her shirt. “I’m not a huge fan of pop but there are some songs I enjoy as guilty pleasures. When I write, I have to listen to soundtrack music, whatever invokes the emotion I’m trying to explain. That’s crucial.” She paused. “Stupid question since you’re in a band but, what about you?”

           “Fairly eclectic myself, but I, too, lean more towards rock. My musical influences were Black Sabbath, The Clash … I enjoy the Stones, too.” He gave her a look. “Please tell me you’ve heard of them.”

           “I have. I wasn’t big into The Clash or the Rolling Stones, but I do love me some Ozzy. Do I get any UK-cred for loving Depeche Mode?”

           “We don’t have ‘cred’ but if it’ll ease your mind, sure.” He chuckled. “You seem like the type.”

           “To …?”

           “To love a band like Depeche Mode.”

           She leaned in closer to him. “What does that mean?”

           Challenging her, he leaned in closer, too. They were about an inch apart. “It means I can see you dancing drunk off your rocker to ‘Enjoy the Silence’ whilst crying and hugging yourself.”

           Cal rolled her eyes and leaned away. She held her middle finger directly in front of his face.

           “Is that your clever response?”

           “Yes, it is. Do you see it?” She thrust her hand closer, just beyond his nose. “Do you see that, Niccals? This is what I think about that.”

           “It’s a thought I have often,” he chuckled, and he enclosed his hand around hers, lowering them both. “And a gesture most often given to me, so no harm.” He gave her a wink and let her hand go. She retracted it slowly, looking at down at it. She sighed.

           “What is it?”

           “Honestly, I want to dance.”

           Murdoc laughed. “Bloody hell, you must be pissed.”

           “Why do you say that?”

           “You’re so random.”

           “And that’s a bad thing?”

           “Well … no.” His smile waned as he tried to configure how to continue. “Actually, it’s quite refreshing.”

           Cal rested her head on her hand again. “Do you like to dance, Niccals?”

           “No, of course not.”

           “Let me guess, you’re the guy in the booth drinking by himself while he complains about the volume of the music and how terrible the dancing is.”

           “You read me like a book.”

           “Grumpy old man.”

           “I’d prefer refined, first-rate connoisseur of good music.”

           “Or, first-rate prick.”

           “I haven’t had a complaint yet.”

           Cal glared at him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

           He smirked. “It’s too late to backtrack, now, Cal. What’s said is said.”

           Cal yawned. “What time is it, prick?”

           Murdoc pulled out his phone. “Just after eleven.”

           Cal sat up and stretched. “I hate to do this but, I think I’m going to take off. I can feel the booze weighing me down. The water was my downfall.”

           “It usually is,” replied Murdoc, less than enthusiastic. “You want me to get you a cab?”

           She stared at him. “How much longer are you going to be out here?”

           “It’s hard to tell.”

           “No, I mean before you and the band moves on? Did you really want to like … I don’t know, hang out?”

           Murdoc was taken aback by the question. “Oh, well, uh, sure. I mean, we have stuff to do tomorrow, press stuff, but, I mean if you’re not busy tomorrow night …”

           She shook her head a little too quick. “I’m free whenever.”

           “That’s great.”

           Cal leaned on the bar, closer to him. “So, you think this time I could actually get your number? For real? You know, not to lead you on or anything, even though you’re _totally fuckable_ or whatever that bullshit was you said to me last night.”

           Murdoc swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. _What are you doing, twat, give the lady your number. No harm._ “Right, of course.” He recited his phone number as Cal entered it into her phone. “Text me yours and I’ll ring you tomorrow when we’re done.”

           Cal nodded. “Sounds like a plan, man.” She stood from the stool and stretched, the tee shirt slipping just above her belly button. Her stomach was flat and Murdoc had to lock his eyes on her face to keep from lowering them. Returning to her relaxed posture, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’d tell you not to do anything too crazy tonight, Niccals, but you’re the overlord of threesomes, so anything that could probably happen in this place is probably too tame anyway.”

           “You’d be surprised at the number of prostitutes that reside in Stoke.”

           “Well, no glove no love, am I right?” She bumped him with her hip and started for the door, Murdoc spinning around on the stool to follow her with his gaze. She turned to him as she placed a hand on the heavy slab of wood. “If it does happen, though, remember, they make creams!”

           Murdoc shook his head. “You’re mental, you know that?”

           “I told you so,” Albert chimed. 

           “I love you, too, Albert,” cooed Cal.

           “Shall I call you a cab?” Murdoc called to her.

           “I already did.” She held up her phone to him. “Just promise you’ll call me tomorrow. Ya know, if you to, or whatever.” She grinned and pushed the door with her backside, moving out of sight.

           Murdoc stared at the door as it closed, then turned back to the bar where Albert cast him a dirty look. “Come off it, mate,” he remarked and held up his empty glass. “Be a dear and fetch me another.”

           Albert’s upper lip shook as he huffily fulfilled the request. Murdoc watched, the grin not leaving his satisfied face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm a bit wordy. If you've made it this far ... kudos to you! I promise, the exposition will let up eventually. Also, I relied on Google translate for the Japanese so if it's incorrect, let me know. 
> 
> Chapter 2 Playlist:  
> Bob Moses - "Writing on the Wall"  
> Radiohead - "Daydreaming"


	3. Chapter 3

            2D made another tic on the on the piece of scratch paper he kept in his pocket. Russel leaned over his shoulder.

            “What’re you doing?”

            2D glanced at him as he tucked the paper back into his pocket and returned the pencil behind his ear. “Tracking every time Muds looks at his phone.”

            Russel glanced up and caught sight of Murdoc as he stood near the food table, leaning against the wall with a cup of tea in his left hand, his phone in the right. He took a sip, looked at the stage where Noodle was being interviewed for their one-on-one sessions with a British magazine, and then looked down at the phone again. Russel watched 2D stealthily pull out the paper and pluck the pencil from his head, and add another check mark to the forty or so notations etched onto the sheet.

            “I’m afraid to ask but _why_ are you keeping track?”

            “He says he ain’t into Cal but I know he is. Why else would he look at his phone like that?”

            “Boredom, probably. There’s nothing to do when you’re not being filmed. Unless he’s watching porn or some shit like that. It’s Muds. Who knows and who cares?”

            “I care,” remarked 2D firmly. “I think he’s checking for Cal.”

            “D, you need to let up. It’s not your business.”

2D whirled around on the couch to face him, clinging to the back of the couch as he climbed onto his knees. “But it is, Rus. If there’s a chance this could work …”

“ _What_ could work?” Russel snapped under his breath. “So what if he likes this chick? So what if

she likes him? Won’t change shit, 2D. When have any of Murdoc’s female plights _ever_ done anything except cause trouble? Larissa?”

            2D shrugged. “She was mental before she met ’im.”

            “Hattie?”

            “She didn’t necessarily advertise that she had access to a large amount of assault rifles and tear gas.”

            “Erica with the straight jacket? Dinah and her twenty-thousand stray cats? Jezebel with her awkward priest fetish?”

            2D batted each name away.

Russel narrowed his eyes at 2D. “Don’t make me say it.”

            “There isn’t a name you can name that’ll break me of my mission.” 2D stretched his neck, elongating himself with an air of challenge at Russel. “I’m a real Carmen Sandiego of sorts, _committed_.”

            “Paula.”

            2D’s black eyes became slits on his face, his lower lip protruding as he tried to maintain his composure.

            “You made me, D. But you can’t say _she_ had anything wrong with her until she met Muds.”

            2D reeled around on the couch, plopping back down on his backside, arms crossed. Russel came around and sat next to him.

            “Don’t pout.”

            “I didn’t wanna think about that – about _her_.”

            “2D, we already talked about this. You can’t be positive all the damn time and then fall apart once reality smacks you upside the head.” He smacked 2D playfully on the back of the head, the singer gasping. “That’s life. It’s a bitch. Don’t be one.”

            “Real decent advice, Rus,” 2D huffed, rubbing the back of his head.

            “Don’t get caught up in Muds’ bullshit. You have more important things to focus on, like when reality’s gonna smack you upside the head again.” He paused. “Carmen Sandiego? Carmen Sandiego was a thief, 2D. Don’t you mean you’re like an Ethan Hawke, failing at your Mission: Impossible?”

            “No, I meant Carmen Sandiego. I’m a thief of love, Rus, looming in the dark, ready to stow my love diamonds into Muds so that somehow they’ll latch on and grow into something real for ’im. I’ll plant ’em so deep he’ll never even know I was there.”

            Russel stared at him for a moment, his left eye twitching as he tried to make sense of the man’s logic. Ultimately, he understood but the phrasing was absolutely baffling. “… Maybe you should take a note from the movies and never reveal that plan to anyone. _Anyone_.”

            “I ’ad no intention, but you backed me into a corner, Rus. A depressing, Paula-induced corner.”

            “I still think you should reconsider.”

            “You don’t like swimming much, eh, Rus?”

            Russel glared at him. “Fuck you, man.”

            “You don’t but you dove in anyway, before all that happened on Plastic Beach. I’ve ’ad many opportunities to dive but ’aven’t cos I’ve been scared. And while I know he’ll never admit it, Muds is too. He needs help, Rus. He needs someone to dive off the deep end with him, hold his hand, like I wish I’d ’ad.”

            “He’ll just as soon use your drowned-ass as a floatation device.”

            “I won’t let ’im know. He’ll think it’s all him.”

            “You’re gonna piss him off even more when he realizes it was you meddlin’ the whole time – and I won’t save you because I already told you not to.”

            “Remember, Rus, I’m Carmen Sandiego. I won’t ever be found out.”

            Russel rubbed his temples. It was a lost cause. “Fine, 2D. Just make sure you add in your will that I get your vinyl collection.”

            “I was going to give you my geodes.”

            “Why the fuck would I want those?”

            “Cos you’d take care of ’em.” 2D quickly shot a glance back at Murdoc, who was finishing the last of his tea. His phone was gone. 2D’s smile waned. “Rus, how’d you like to go to Stoke tonight?”

            “I’d hate it, actually. Nobody of a decent nature goes to that shithole.”

            “I say we penetrate it with our good intentions,” 2D countered. “She’s gonna be there, Rus, and we’re running out of time.”

            “ _I have no time to run out, 2D_. This whole business is all _you_ and only _you_. Not even the prick you’re trying to help is in on it.”

            “If we all go we can plant the –”

            “ _I ain’t planting shit, Pot_.”

            2D smiled weakly and then remembered his secret weapon – _the big gun!_ “They actually have a delightful Indian restaurant a meager walk away from the pub.”

            Russel glared at him and then crossed his massive arms over his chest. “Damn you, D. You know my weakness for an authentic masala.”

            2D beamed. “I hear the masala comes with the hugest chunks of paneer you’ve ever seen.”

            Russel considered this for a moment. It had been a while since they’d all gone out for a meal – all of them, and Indian was never the first selection. Finally, he sighed. “Alright, D. I’ll come with you to Stoke. But understand this,” he stuck his large pointer finger in 2D’s chest, “I’m only going for the food.”

            “Me too,” exclaimed 2D. “Well, mostly. Like 85%.”

            On the other side of the room, Murdoc caught sight of Russel jabbing his finger into 2D’s chest. He smirked, left his empty tea cup on the table and headed towards them, intrigued by Russel’s blatant irritation with 2D. “What’s the bloody git done this time?” he mused.

            Both Russel and 2D quieted as Murdoc approached. If he hadn’t already been so close to the couch, he would have turned and walked away by how stiff the two became, alarming Murdoc that they had to be speaking about him. His stomach tightened as he played it off, plopping down onto the couch on Russel’s other side, throwing his arms out along back of the couch and its arm, and crossed his legs at his ankles.

            “Boring as shit, eh?” he commented, looking around the stage. “There wasn’t even anything interesting on PornHub to take the edge off.” He chuckled and nudged Russel with his elbow.

            “It’s only boring for you when they ain’t talking to you.”

            “Come now, Rus, you know the feeling. Of course,” he eyed them both, “you two seem to be having quite the laugh over here.”

            “What’s it to you, Muds?” chimed 2D, glancing nervously at Russel.

            Murdoc leaned forward on the couch to see around Russel and narrowed his eyes at 2D, his lips curled. “I saw Rus giving you a hard time and figured it was the opportune moment to rid me of this boredom.”

            2D shifted his eyes between Russel and Murdoc so fast they could have spun around inside his head. “Well, I, uh … er, I was on Yelp and telling Russel where we should have supper after this.”

            Murdoc rolled his eyes. “How you’re not as big as Russel with the appetite you have …”

            “Pump those heels, you decrepit old demon,” warned Russel. He patted his belly. “This is the result of a gourmet palate. Besides, girls don’t want some weak-ass twig trying to defend them, blue-haired _or_ green-skinned.”

            “I’m sure that works wonders in the bedroom, too. Keeps things interesting and limber.”

            Russel grimaced down at Murdoc, baring his teeth. “This ain’t no episode of Full House, Muds, but I’ll beat your scrawny ass so fast it’ll come around again like a rerun. You don’t need a face to play bass.”

            Murdoc sat back against the couch coolly, his chin upturned.

            “My doctor says a I’ve a spectacular thyroid. Overactive, I believe. Does wonders on the waistline.” 2D patted his stomach. “Anyway, we’re going to this Indian place off Kingsway.”

            Murdoc furrowed his eyebrows. “Kingsway?”

            2D nodded.

            “In the Potteries?”

            Again, 2D nodded. “That way if you feel so inclined _not_ to come, you can head to The Pig.”

            “There’s a literal abundance of Indian food places in Manchester, you git.”

            “Yeah, but this one is open until midnight, so we can hang out. Besides, we may grab a drink, too.”

            Murdoc blinked, trying to understand his words. “What makes you think I’m even going to Stoke tonight?” he snapped.

            “What makes you think I made these plans cos you may or may not be going to Stoke?”

            “Because only an idiot would drive all the way out to Stoke for Indian food he can have a literal block away!”

            “They do have high ratings on Yelp,” Russel interjected, thumbing over his phone screen. “And D was right, the paneer looks massive.” Russel looked at Murdoc. “I’m a sucker for an authentic masala.”

            “How do you know the place down the street isn’t authentic?”

            “Why’re you fighting this, Muds?” 2D questioned. “We want to try something different. Aside from me, the gang’s never been to Stoke.”

            “Why the fuck start visiting now? It’s an utter shithole. Worse than before.”

            “What’re you hiding over there?” Russel raised an eyebrow, to which 2D’s lips became a wide line on his face, threatening to smile.

            Murdoc’s eyes widened. “ _Hiding?_ Who said anything about hiding anything?”

            “I want masala, man. I want _this_ paneer masala.” Russel pressed his finger onto his phone screen. “I’ve already been talked into this and I’m not backing down. Russel Hobbs doesn’t back down from what he wants, and goddammit I want _this_ paneer masala.”

            The three of them stared intensely at one another before they all realized Noodle was standing in front of the couch staring down at them. Slowly, their heads turned as she waited, hands on her hips, looking to each of them from behind her large, triangular glasses.

            “We’ve really resorted to fighting over Indian food now?”

            “Don’t seem so surprised, love. Look at who you’re dealing with.” Murdoc tipped his head in Russel and 2D’s direction. “It’s the bloody daft leading the hungry over here.”

            “With commentary provided by the king of Moodsville.”

            Murdoc crossed his arms. “Can’t you for once be on _my_ side, Noodle?”

            She wedged herself between Russel and Murdoc, Murdoc shifting against the arm of the couch to accommodate her. “Oh, I will, one day Muds, when you give me a solid reason to. But for now, smile!”

            She turned her head and threw out her arms, her mouth hanging open. The guys turned and saw the cameraman from the magazine with his large lens on them. The flashes started. Murdoc was caught off guard, but relaxed as the clicking started. Noodle and 2D changed various positions, Russel crossing and uncrossing his arms, finally securing 2D in a headlock. Noodle turned sideways and threw a leg up, leaning back across Murdoc’s lap. He looked down at her, she up at him. She smiled and placed the tip of her finger to the end of his nose. For a moment, everything about the previous Indian food argument vanished, and Murdoc stared down at the ten-year-old child he told himself he could never get too attached to because he wasn’t meant to be a father; he needed a guitarist, not a mouth to feed, but that grin, which had somehow become goofier the older Noodle became, reminded him that those initial feelings had changed as he watched her grow. He didn’t read her bedtime stories with Russel and 2D, but he did stand near the door, arms crossed, a glower on his face, trying his best to seem uninterested and yet able to recall every story they shared with her. His favorites came from Frog and Toad. He also never bought her clothes but passed down his worn band tees to her, which made him smile whenever she wore them to bed – sizes too big for her. He hadn’t been the most patient of mentors but inwardly felt the familiar swell of pride whenever she produced an original guitar riff or improved upon a piece of his music. And now, as she smiled up at him, obviously posing for a picture for the magazine, Murdoc couldn’t help the tiniest of smiles that graced his chin.

            “There you are,” she said quietly. “You’re going to come out with us, Rōjin.” It wasn’t a question but a request.

            Murdoc sighed as she sat up and gripped both Russel and Murdoc around their necks, pulling them in close. 2D immediately sprawled out along the entire couch over them, his lengthy limbs flailing playfully as the photographer took the last few shots.

            “What’s the plan?” Noodle inquired as the clicking continued.

            “Indian food in Stoke,” replied 2D. “Drinks at the pub. In whichever order is preferred.”

            Murdoc grumbled. Noodle’s arm tightened around his neck. He clasped her arm, gritting his teeth.

            “Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out, Stu,” chimed Noodle. “I love it.”

            The photographer stood and nodded to the band. “Looks great, guys. Genuine moment, indeed.”

            Noodle turned to them on the couch. “Let’s stop at the hotel and get changed. I want to be fun tonight, vibrant. I feel vibrant.”

            “I feel vibrant too! Especially in my stomach!” 2D jumped up. He quickly looked to Murdoc, who glared up at him. “But I can go for a drink first.”

            “Do as you wish,” said Murdoc, waving a hand at him. “It’s of no consequence to me.”

            Noodle stood and turned to Murdoc. “You ought to wear your button down. The short-sleeved one with the cute bat pin.”

            Murdoc glanced down at his front. “Why should I change? I look fine.”

            Noodle took his hands and pulled him, Murdoc having to stand to assist her with his dead weight. “There’s no point in looking depressed tonight, Rōjin! There’s a vibrant energy here and I think we should hone in on it.”

            “Would it kill you to wear a little color tonight? If so, I’ve got a bag of tie dye I’d pay to watch you die in.” Russel winked at Murdoc.

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake, fine,” Murdoc growled. “ _Not_ the tie dye, I’ll do the bloody button-down.”

            Noodle beamed up at him. “Ah, could this night get any better?”

            “Of course not, you’re going to ruddy Stoke-on-Trent. It’s bound to get significantly worse,” huffed Murdoc, sulking towards the exit as he dug in his pocket for his cigarettes. Behind him, 2D grinned ear to ear at Russel and Noodle. Russel rolled his eyes at him, but Noodle gave him a small smile. As they followed Murdoc, Noodle moved closer to 2D.

            “Don’t get your hopes up,” she whispered to him. “But take joy in the small victory here.”

            “Oh, I am,” replied 2D quietly. “I really am.”

* * *

             Murdoc tapped his foot anxiously as the cab neared The Pig. 2D sat in the front seat, chatting away the driver who was very pointedly trying to ignore him, Noodle chiming in from behind the passenger seat, while Russel sat between she and Murdoc watching the passing streetlights as the night darkened. Every time Murdoc’s phone screen lit up, Murdoc noticed the car would get quiet momentarily before the chatter resumed. And every time his phone screen lit up, Murdoc’s chest tightened. He read and reread the text conversation as covertly as the small cab would allow.

            ‘Hey Cal – gonna be there in an hour if you’re still interested.’

            ‘Interested? In drinking? Who the fuck you think this is?’

            ‘An alcoholic, clearly. Side note, won’t be alone. Acquired bandmates.’

            ‘Hey now, sounds like a party. I love parties. See you soon!’

            He hadn’t responded after that, but he continually read _see you soon_ , focusing on the _you_ aspect. He’d told her he wasn’t coming alone, hoping she’d get scared and call it off. Of course, she hadn’t, to his relief. _Am I relieved or not?_ Nervousness overwhelmed him. His palms were sweaty. _Am I foolish, or am I wise?_ He ran a hand over his face.

            “You okay, Muds?” came the low rumble of Russel’s voice.

            “What – yeah – me?” Murdoc glanced at him, his cell phone nearly slipping from his hand. He pierced at the back and the screen with his nails, clinging to it so that no one would see the texts. “I mean, yeah, why?” He looked at them. 2D was smiling his stupid grin, turned around his seat so that he could face him. Russel stared at him in suspicion, while Noodle gave him a curious glance. The panic that coursed through his muscles finally overcame him, and Murdoc exhaled in exasperation.

            “ _I’m absolutely fine I just need a goddamn drink is that so hard to comprehend and there’ll probably be a girl there but she’s just there to drink so stop giving me these stupid looks!_ ”

            2D, Noodle and Russel looked between themselves, their expressions unreadable.

            “What kind of sides come with that masala, you think?” Russel suddenly asked 2D.

            2D pulled out his phone. “I’m pretty sure the menu said jasmine rice, but I may order another plate of masala as my side. Maybe a Mutter Paneer. And naan. Loads of naan.”

            “I haven’t had garlic naan in _ages!_ ” cooed Noodle, to which Russel nodded in excitement.

            Their conversation continued but the words became an incomprehensive din within the car as Murdoc watched their mouths move. Time slowed and he could hear every cell within his body vibrating, friction igniting heat along his skin, buzzing like a swarm of a trillion microscopic bees maintaining his existence. _I need a fucking drink_. Off to his right, Noodle’s laughter flooded his ears, her neon pink and yellow nail polish blinding him. 2D donned neon blue nail polish on his ring and pinky fingers, and Russel’s bright yellow tee glowed with the strength of the sun beneath the brown bomber jacket he wore over it. On his own slender frame, Murdoc wore the button-down which was a deep purple with black trim, his gold inverted down cross hanging over the unbuttoned collar. He refused to wear anything but black fitted jeans and a pair of combat boots with the button down, but the purple on his torso still managed to clash desperately against the ugly grey backdrop of the Potteries, and he immediately knew what he was. _I’m foolish._ That’s it – he was willing to risk injury. He wouldn’t die from jumping out of a moving vehicle at 64 kph, right? _Fuck it, I’ll simply die._ His hand gripped the door handle and just before he internally chided himself for not opening it fast enough, 2D’s voice brought his existence back to real-time.

            “It’s a quaint place, The Pig.”

            “Don’t know why you city types would come here,” remarked the driver as he pulled in front of the forlorn entrance of the pub. “You won’t find any parties.”

            “We’re the party,” said Noodle, and she handed him some cash.

            “Thanks!” 2D hopped out of the cab and opened the door, assisting Noodle out while Russel trailed. 2D leaned into the backseat, grinning at Murdoc. “Come along, Muds.”

            Murdoc stared at the door behind 2D’s shaggy blue hair. “Eh, you three get on.”

            “You have to come, Murdoc,” replied 2D, a hint of worry in his tone. “You promised Noodle.”

            Murdoc snapped, “I never said I wasn’t coming, twat, I just need a moment is all. Jesus fucking Christ.”

            2D’s smile became a straight line across his face. “Fine.” He shut the door and beckoned Noodle and Russel into the pub.

            Murdoc watched them go, the hum of the engine vibrating the seat under him. “I could have just stayed at the room with late night TV,” he muttered, sliding himself reluctantly across the backseat.

            “I hear ya, mate. These kids are bloody mental these days,” said the driver.

            Murdoc shot him a glare through the rearview mirror. “Piss off, old man,” he huffed and slammed the cab door shut behind him. The cab pulled away from the curb in a hurry, Murdoc throwing up his middle finger after it. Chuckling to himself, he walked to the shrubbery near the entrance of The Pig and pulled out a cigarette. Searching his pocket for his lighter, he felt a distinct pain shoot up his side as something pierced at him.

            “Gimme all your cash, bitch.”

            The cigarette hanging off his lower lip, the anxiety of his childhood manifested within him, causing him to tighten up until a very foreign laugh sounded. Whipping around, Cal stood there laughing, her hand in a ‘L’ shape, pretending to be a gun.

            “Are you fucking mad?” Murdoc hissed. “I could’ve hurt you.”

            Cal continued to laugh, holding up her hand to him to in a rueful manner. “Oh, Niccals, I had you!”

            “You almost had a fist to the face.”

            “And you, a knee to the nuts.” She took hold of his forearms to steady herself. “I’d kill to see your gangster side come out!”

            “Are you already pissed?” he inquired, less than enthused.

            Wiping her eyes, Cal shook her head. “Not yet,” she chuckled. “Would it kill you to smile at least? It was pretty funny.”

            “I already completed my smile quota for today.” Murdoc lit up the cigarette.

            Cal placed her hands on her hips. “Do you need a tampon? C’mon, let’s have a little fun tonight.”

            Murdoc was both surprised and amused by her wit. He chuckled, taking a long drag off the cigarette. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

            “I already told you that, Niccals.” She gave him a wink. She touched his collar and looked him up and down. “I like this. It’s a nice color on you.”

            He quickly plucked the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it, smashing it under his boot. The heat formed in his cheeks. “Shall we?”

            “Let’s shall!” Cal walked ahead of him, pushing open the door with much enthusiasm. Murdoc lingered, took a deep breath and then followed. He could already hear 2D.

            _Sweet Satan, I’m in Hell._

            Under the hazy lamplight, Murdoc saw that Cal was wearing a light blue shade of skinny jeans, the hem rolled up just above the ankle. On her feet were a pair of black slip-on Vans, no socks. Tracing the length of her legs over her the curve of her ass, Murdoc caught the black tank top hanging out from under the jean vest she wore, her arms long and toned. On her left arm was a colorful display of flora and skulls tattooed into her tanned skin, decorating around the entirety of her bicep and shoulder. Her hair hung down the length of her back in chocolate waves. She whipped around, casting a smile at him as she ushered him to the bar. He heard 2D’s voice over the general dullness of the room but he couldn’t look away for whatever reason. His body was a tumultuous force of fear and curiosity, and it bothered him greatly. It’d been ages – he couldn’t even recall at the moment – since he’d experienced any kind of emotion similar to this. He hated it.

            “Albert!” Cal knocked on the bar top. “We need booze!”

            “Yeah, yeah, your majesty, hold onto your knickers,” grumbled Albert.

            Murdoc leaned against the bar, facing Cal, when he caught his group sitting around one of the tables, all with drinks in their hands – all staring at him. He grimaced at their curiosity, 2D’s grin taking up the majority of his face. Murdoc rolled his eyes and swiftly motioned at them, to which 2D nearly hopped over the table to him.

            “Eh, Cal.” Murdoc touched her elbow, and Cal glanced down at his hand. “I suppose you should meet my band.”

            Smiling, she turned. Before her loomed 2D, and she craned her neck back to meet his gaze. “Hi!” she greeted, extending her hand out to him. Promptly, he took her around the shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace.

            “How lovely to meet you, Cal! I’m 2D.”

            “‘2D,’” Cal repeated. “That’s interesting.”

            “Oh, so here’s how I came to get the nickname,” started 2D, “You see, it was many years ago when I worked –”

            “It’s a _long_ story,” Murdoc interjected. “His given name is Stu, but he goes by 2D.”

            “I’m Noodle,” said Noodle and she shook Cal’s hand with energetic fervor.

            “Nice to meet you – Cal.” Cal turned to Russel and shook his hand.

            “Russel Hobbs,” he greeted. “Why’re you hanging around with this hobgoblin?”

            Cal chuckled. “Is there anything else to do in this town?” She gave Murdoc a wink and smacked his arm, to which he rolled his eyes. “What’s everyone having? I’ll get this round.”

            “Oh, and I suppose you brought actual money this time, did ya?” barked Albert.

            “Only for you, bestie. We definitely need some whiskey.” Cal turned back to the others. “What’s your poison?”

            “I’ll take a Strongbow,” Noodle replied.

            “A Stella for me, please,” said 2D.

            “Just a Budweiser and a glass of water with a wedge of lemon.” Russel eyed Albert. “The lemon is necessary.”

            “Cal, we grabbed a table over here if you’d join us.” Noodle took hold of Cal’s elbow, 2D on her other side, and they moved towards the table.

            Murdoc watched them, lingering at the bar. Russel remained beside him.

            “You met her here?” Russel asked quietly, watching Albert set their glasses onto a dusty tray.

            Murdoc nodded. “Right where you’re standing. Granted, she was particularly drunk.”

            “And yet sober she’s still down to hang.”

            “It’s a conundrum, really.”

            “It is, Muds.” Russel placed his hand on Murdoc’s shoulder and gave it a less than friendly squeeze. “None of this is my business and I’d prefer if it stay that way, but don’t think I condone any tomfoolery. You’re gonna be you, and I’ve come to terms with that, but for once in your bitter old life, be honest with all parties. If this is just a fuck, make sure she understands that.”

            Murdoc ripped his shoulder away from Russel’s grip. “You’re right, Hobbs, it’s not your bloody business. And for the record, that’s _not_ what this is. _This_ is nothing. Just some woman having a drink with us. She leaves Monday and that’s that. Nothing more.”

            “Nothing more, huh?” Russel chuckled with malice. “You can’t think I’m that stupid. A gorgeous young woman wants to hang out with _you_ and you think she don’t have an angle? Or is sincere?”

            “She’d be a fool to be sincere,” Murdoc retorted. “And fooled if it’s the former.”

            “American women can be crafty.”

            “I’ve had plenty of ’em to know that, Rus. Don’t think me blind.”

            “Oh, you’re blind, Muds. That I can say with confidence.”

            Murdoc gritted his teeth as he watched Russel grab the tray. At the table, 2D, Noodle and Cal laughed, startling the leathery couple in the back corner of the pub. “You know, Rus, if you meant only to demean my existence tonight I’d rather have remained at the hotel to get blackout drunk over a plethora of our recent interviews with your soapbox dogma.”

            Russel curled his lips. “Don’t dish it if you can’t hang. And while it may come off as demeaning, you know I’m always upfront with you. You either take it and move on, or you sulk. I’m not here to hold your hand. You made it very clear from the beginning you don’t want your hand held, and I ain’t gonna waste my time. But I will say this: whatever you do, do it all the way or not at all. Nobody wants their time wasted. She deserves that, at the very least. We’re used to being fucked in the ass by your shenanigans. Don’t pull her through the ringer, too.”

            Murdoc watched him take the tray of drinks to the table, where 2D threw his arms up and hollered, grabbing his Stella Artois. The excitement within Murdoc waned, and he leaned on the bar top on his elbows, fumbling for a cigarette. Lighting it, he inhaled, the warmth filling his lungs, calming the jittery aftermath of the roller coaster of emotions coursing through him. _Fuck Russel_. He picked at the wood on the bar top, ignoring the mopping motion of Albert a few feet away and the distinct life the table behind him forced throughout the otherwise dead space. It was no surprise he’d lost Cal to them. They were nothing like him, and while she was a kindred spirit in a sense, she was much better than he. In fact, in a strange way, he realized it would only be a matter of time before she’d have eyes for 2D and then Murdoc would probably never speak to her again. He sighed. What a stupid thing to think – _bloody childish._ Who cared if she did fall for 2D? 2D was funny and kindhearted and passionate about his work. They had more in common due to age alone. Cal wanted to dance, and 2D loved to dance. She loved karaoke and so did 2D. She was loud and funny, and so was 2D.

            Murdoc smirked to himself, etching an X into the bar top mindlessly. It felt good to dig into something seemingly stronger, but the marking was evident in the wood. _What the fuck does it matter, tosser? This is what you wanted – nothing more_.

            A hand on the small of his back alerted him, and he blew out smoke at the bar, ready to let Noodle know he was coming. When he turned, to his surprise, Cal stood next to him, leaning on the bar. She was close, their hips barely an inch apart. She moved her hand around his side, finally drawing it away to rest on the edge of the bar. She smirked up at him and he could see the whiskey in her dark eyes.

            “You okay, Niccals?”

            He nodded, cradling the cigarette between two fingers. “Didn’t want to smoke you lot out.”

            “2D’s smoking over there. This entire place reeks of lung cancer.”

            Murdoc chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

            She held up a glass of whiskey to him. “I saved one for you.”

            Murdoc took it, staring into the amber liquor.

            “You gonna come sit with me or not, Aloof Bassist?”

            “If you insist.” Murdoc downed the liquid and set the empty glass in her hand. “Charity Case.”

            Her stare lingered on him as he made his way to the table. It was stupid, she knew, but she really wanted to grab him around the beltloop and hold him there a little longer, try to make him smile. Something was off about him tonight, but she maintained her cool. It’s not like she expected anything from him at all; he liked whiskey, she tolerated it because this stupid country didn’t believe in good booze, but what she really wanted was to hear Murdoc speak, to hear about his witty, nihilistic views and have him look at her with those black eyes, coupled with that sinister grin across his defined chin. _You’re so stupid_ , she chided herself, but still she watched him as he pulled up a seat next to 2D, taking the whiskey bottle from the table and filled the glass she’d been drinking from.

            They were an interesting group, each one entirely different from the next. She wondered how four people like them came together in the first place, even lived together alongside working together. She saw Murdoc shove 2D, the younger man spilling some of his beer on the table, Murdoc and Russel chuckling. 2D offered them a wide smile, his mouth open. He was a fun drunk, she knew, because of how silly he was sober. But as she decided to walk back to the table, she slowed herself down, remembering that the fun she’d have tonight would come with her leaving the day after tomorrow, and whatever did happen, the goodbyes were inevitable. Her smile waned. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she reminded herself that nothing beyond this night was promised and that living for the end was idiotic. So what if Monday brought her home? She was still here today, and today is where her mind had to remain.

            Cal turned back to the bar. “Albert, I need a shot of tequila.”

            “You’re really going to make me dig the tequila out, aren’t you?” huffed Albert.

            “Tequila?” chimed 2D from the table. “Cal, are you ordering tequila shots? Oh please, you must!”

            “I’m not dragging your carcass to the hotel tonight,” came Murdoc.

            “The name of the game is to not be the sober one tonight, Muds.”

            “You’re on, Faceache. I can’t promise you won’t end up in a ditch though – and trust me, the options are endless ’round ’ere.”

            Cal smiled. Albert handed her a tray of shot glasses and a dusty bottle of tequila. Taking a deep breath, she faced the table and walked the tequila to them.

            They remained at The Pig for the next couple of hours, drinking between general conversation, until Noodle finally raised a hand and tapped out. 2D and Murdoc booed her, filling the pub with their displeasure.

            “What about the masala? The paneer?”

            “She’s right!” Russel added. “I can’t be too fucked up when we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

            2D turned to Cal. “Come with us, Cal! We’re off to have Indian food!”

            “Indian food? I feel like I’m betraying my roots by having Indian food post tequila shots.”

            “You must have something to honk up later. What better thing than delicious Indian food?”

            As the rest of them gathered their belongings, Murdoc leaned towards Cal.

            “Don’t feel pressured,” he whispered, his breath warm on her skin.

            “I don’t.” She paused, licked her lips and looked at him. “I don’t want to intrude, either.”

            “Intrude? _They_ intruded on _us_.”

            Cal crossed her arms on the table. “Oh, so this was an _us_ thing?”

            Murdoc shrugged, his limbs heavy. “I’m fine with you coming or not, but I’m finer if you come.”

            Cal laughed. “What a confusingly perverted statement. Are you drunk, Mr. Niccals?”

            Murdoc narrowed his eyes as he stared at her and clumsily touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “You got freckles, ya know tha’?”

            Cal wrapped her hand around his and placed it on the table. “You’re so fucking blitzed, man.”

            “This is your fault, ya know? The fault of your ancestors … ruddy tequila.”

            “Who said sí to cinco tequila shots?”

            “I paced them with the whiskey.”

            She sniggered, feeling weighed down herself. She knew she hadn’t had that much tequila, but it was enough to make everything she did feel like an effort. Food was a good idea but she was still hesitant. She wasn’t sure why. She had no intention of ending the night yet. 

            Murdoc leaned into her again and wrapped his slender fingers around one of her arms. “Have I frightened you away yet?” He cast a grin at her and rested his hand on his palm. She considered his words. “You’re not drunk enough tonight.”

            “Drunk enough for what?”

            “For that fiery spontaneity you preach so desperately about.”

            “I don’t want to intrude.”

            “You speak of intruding as though someone’s suggested that’s the case. You’re formally invited, love – signed, sealed, and delivered by yours truly.” He pressed his hands into his chest. “You’d so willingly leave old Murdoc to the wolves? I thought we were a team, Cal.”

            Now it was Cal’s turn to roll her eyes. “Niccals, you’re throwing some low blows tonight.”

            He scooted closer to her, his face near hers. “Gimme something to work with.”   

            She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, motherfucker, I accept your invitation to join you and your friends.”

            “So someone has balls after all.”

            “Yeah she does,” spat Cal playfully, “and they’re bigger than yours, bub.” She stood, Murdoc following her gaze as he leaned back to watch her, his chin just beyond her stomach. “Be careful, I’d hate for you to choke on them.” She gave him a wink and followed Noodle, 2D and Russel, Murdoc sloppily hurrying after.

* * *

            The Indian restaurant was bright and full of occupants conversing with such animation that the group blended in without causing a raucous. They ordered several trays of food, the heated scent of spices and herbs emanating from the table, reminding everyone of just how hungry they were, and they passed each dish around with clumsy enthusiasm. 2D was especially joyous as he inhaled every rich flavor that passed under his nose, his ears pleasured with the earnest enjoyment that surrounded him. He was used to hearing Noodle and Russel laugh, but combined with the crude remarks from a drunken Murdoc and the newly introduced cackling of Cal – _and the fact that Murdoc was actually present!_ – the sounds were sweeter, and he felt at peace. For once, he didn’t have to wonder where Murdoc was or dread the oncoming train wreck of an argument. Between the booze and the introduction of a new face, the chatter remained pleasant and inquisitive, and the delicious food filled in the gaps.

            2D didn’t hear much about Cal outside of her living in California and being a writer, but rather focused on the way she sat forward in her seat, gesticulating with her hands, her eyes wide and the sound of her voice friendly. When she spoke, Murdoc was upright in his seat, staring at the side of her face, sometimes leaned against the table with barely more than the width of an arm between them. When she listened, Murdoc was back against his seat, sometimes with his hands in is lap and other times with an arm draped across the back of her chair. Even though he watched her under heavy eyelids, 2D saw in his face an entrancement he’d never seen before – one he was sure Murdoc would never admit to, either. And sometimes, when Noodle or Russel were doing the talking, 2D caught Cal glance at Murdoc, regardless of the seated position he was in, and the dimples in her cheeks would appear for a moment. 2D waited for one of them to slip a hand over the other’s, even if it was accidental. It didn’t happen to his observation, but his heart still danced around the inside of his chest, his own eyelids growing heavy the more masala-slathered naan he forced into his mouth, until at last Russel looked down at his watch and announced that it was after one a.m.

            “I don’t know about y’all but we have that recording studio earlier tomorrow, and I can’t oversleep.”

            “Blimey, we don’t have any leftovers,” 2D lamented. “I would’ve loved to enjoy this all over again in the morning.”

            “Doesn’t mean we can’t find a spot near the studio tomorrow.” Russel turned to Cal. “It was really nice to meet you, even though I question your judgement considering you hang around this asshole.”

            Cal laughed and nudged Murdoc, startling him. “Thanks Russel. I’m known for my questionable taste.”

            “You seem like you can hold your own, though.”

            “Thanks. I do.”

            Noodle stood and reached across the table, giving Cal’s hand a squeeze. “It was a great time, Cal. One of our rarer moments, for sure.”

            Cal smiled broadly at her. “Definitely a pleasure.”

            They stood, and 2D walked around the table as Noodle and Russel put their jackets on. He wrapped his arms around Cal and patted the top of her head, slightly unstable from the evening. “Absolutely enchanting. Please keep in contact.” He released her and Cal nodded up at him. He then bent towards Murdoc, who was steadying himself against the table. “You’ve a light, Muds? We’ll step outside.”

            “I’m coming now.”

            “Take your time,” said 2D as Russel and Noodle headed for the exit.

            Murdoc dug into his back pocket, nearly stumbling into the table. Cal grabbed his arm, chuckling. Pulling a matchbook from The Pig out of his pocket, he tossed it to 2D, who then hurriedly made his way after Noodle and Russel.

            “You okay, Niccals?” Cal asked, tightening her grip on him.

            “Meh,” he waved her comment away and slowly started forward. “I’m used to it.” He held up a finger and adamantly continued, “Not with tequila though. Not in a long while.”

            Cal laughed again.

            “So I suppose you’re headed home, eh?”

            “I’m going to the hotel first. I leave Monday, remember?”

            “S’right, s’right.” He nodded. “Oh! Ride with us at least.”

            “Will we fit in a cab?”

            “Sure! We’ll just strap 2D to the top.”

            “You’re so evil.”

            He grinned at her. “You’ve no idea.”

            The cold night air hit them both as they stepped out into Stoke, 2D staring up at the sky, puffing on a cigarette. The tail lights of a cab dimmed in the distance, and as Murdoc and Cal approached 2D, he blew out a cloud of smoke.

            “There was already one here so they took off.” He stuck a thumb out in the direction of the cab. “I wasn’t sure what you lot were doing so I waited.”

            “I’m not too far from your hotel, actually. Let’s grab a cab and we’ll drop you guys off first.”

            Murdoc nodded. “What a shit idea,” he announced. “The Pig is only a few blocks away.”

            “You have work tomorrow,” Cal reminded him.

            “And you, what do you ’ave?” he questioned. “You can’t drink without me. I’m your tour guide of Stoke-of-Shit.” He held open his arms at the flickering street lamp on the sidewalk, tripping as he did so. 2D caught him.

            Cal crossed her arms, amused. “Alright, Greenleaf, what’d you have in mind?”

            “You’re in luck, Cal. Despite popular belief, Murdoc is quite cultured. He could show you some sights.”

            Murdoc snapped his head up. “Who believes I’m not?”

            “The populous,” remarked 2D, patting Murdoc’s chest. “S’okay, mate, if I’ve learned anything from you, it’s fuck the populous.”

            “Ah, my boy, I’ve taught you much in terms of fucking the populous.” Murdoc tousled 2D’s hair, chuckled menacingly at up at him. “The importance of the ol’ Aussie kiss.”

            2D’s cheeks flushed as he secured an arm around Murdoc. “Probably not a subject to get into with present company.”

            “By all means, I’m well aware that men are gross,” said Cal, glancing down at her phone.

            “Oh, fuck that arsehole Ryan! What a fucking stupid name, fucking epidemy of American.” Murdoc pushed away from 2D and stumbled to Cal, who took hold of his shoulders.

            “Are you falling apart on me, Niccals?”

            “No, I simply wanted to tell you that despite all the bullshit of your travels and the disgusting men in your life – present company _willingly_ included – that I’m glad that the wicked universe brought me here to this very slab of concrete upon which we stand, one nation, under God, versus Satan, and the winner is me, Murdoc fucking Niccals!”

            Cal burst out laughing as 2D came to her aid in holding up Murdoc, a cab stopping at the curb.

            “Fuck, how many Cobras did he have?” she asked as they pulled him towards the car.

            Stuffing him into the backseat, 2D stood and shrugged. “I stopped keeping track after five.”

            Cal’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

            “I’m fairly certain it’s the booze that keeps him alive, kind of like a battery source.” He opened the front door for her. “I’ll take the backseat. He tends to get a bit handsy when he’s this pissed, and I know the safe word.”

            Cal cocked an eyebrow and slid into the front seat, turning around to watch 2D move in next to Murdoc, who promptly leaned into him, laying along the majority of the seat on his back, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs bent up against the door.

            “2D … what’s the safe word?”

            “2D,” he replied, and he turned Murdoc’s head towards Cal, Murdoc breathing heavily, his eyes closed. “Ya know, so he doesn’t choke on his vomit.”

            Cal shook her head, chuckling. “It’s nice you look out for each other.”

            “We have to. That’s what families do.”

            His words rang in her ears as the cab took off into the night, the rhythm of Murdoc’s breathing, and eventually 2D’s, creating a pleasant white noise in the cab.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three Playlist:  
> A mix of Depeche Mode, "It's No Good" in particular ;]


	4. Chapter 4

            The blaring alarm next to his head shocked Murdoc out of a deep sleep, his limbs thrashing against the shackles of the sheets. Launching himself upright, he was sure he was going to have a heart attack and he pressed a hand to his chest, the erratic pounding overcoming his palm. Taking a deep breath, he seized the cell phone and stabbed at the screen, shutting off the alarm, and through hazy eyes noted that it was just past ten a.m. on Sunday morning.

            “What the devil …?”

            He tossed the phone aside and fell back against his pillow, drawing the sheets up under his chin. Just as he closed his eyes, a bright light hit him in the face. He cringed deeply, squeezing his eyelids tighter together until that familiar greeting came, and Murdoc’s blood boiled beneath his skin.

            “Rise and shine!”

            Throwing the sheets off and bolting upright again, Murdoc launched his boot across the room at 2D, who ducked with ease.

            “You fucking pillock, _get out!_ ”

            2D crossed the room and threw open the curtains, displaying an overcast sky. “I shall, Muds, but I wanted ta make sure you’re up.”

            “Our session isn’t until two!”

            “But you told Cal you’d meet up with her before,” replied 2D, rummaging through Murdoc’s exploded suitcase.

            “I did not,” Murdoc snapped. “I’d remember an idiotic thing like that. And get your hands off my things, Faceache.”

            2D held up two black shirts, inspecting them against the light coming in from the window. “You said you would last night, even told Cal not to drink without you. And then you passed out in the cab on my lap.” He draped a shirt over his arm and returned the other, grabbing a pair of jeans and a pair of boxer briefs. Turning around, 2D laid the outfit on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the fabric on each piece as he made his final inspection. “Do you intend to shower, cos I have some cologne if not. You’re on limited time.”

            Murdoc glared at him and grabbed the phone, searching through his texts. “There’s nothing from her about today.”

            “That’s cos _you’re_ the one coordinating. Now come, get dressed.”

            “Piss off, 2Douche, I’m not going. I’m tired and in no mood to not drink.”

            2D frowned and placed his hands on his hips. “You’d seriously blow this girl off for sleep?”

            “I’ve blown off far less in my life for an extra wink of sleep as it’s hard to come by,” retorted Murdoc, reaching for the sheets again. “I actually slept wonderfully until _you_ showed up … fucking tequila.”

            “Muds, please,” 2D moved around the bed and sat on the edge, gripping Murdoc’s wrist to stop him from pulling up the sheet. “Cal leaves tomorrow and who knows if we’ll ever see her again. You should really go.”

            Murdoc pulled his hand away, narrowing his eyes at 2D. “If you feel so strongly on the matter, why don’t _you_ go? You two hit it off nicely last night.”

            2D winced, his mouth hanging open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It means what I said, you twit.” Murdoc sighed and ran his hands through his messy hair, groaning deeply. “Oh fuck, what’s the point anyway? She leaves tomorrow – why even make an effort? It’s not like it’s a _thing_.”

            “I never said it was, but it’s nice to meet new people.”

            “I prefer my hotel room. People are tiring, especially you.” Murdoc flicked 2D’s nose, causing 2D to sneeze.

            Rubbing the tip of his nose with his palm, 2D continued, “Being a hermit isn’t always a good thing, Muds.”

            “When you’re surrounded by idiots it’s absolutely necessary. Dealing with you proves my point.”

            2D shook his head and crossed his arms. “You can sling mud all you want, but you can’t deny the eyes you were giving ’er last night.”

            “‘Eyes’? What _eyes_? I was drunk, could barely see a damn thing.”

            “Well, regardless, it would be rude to leave this be. After all, it really was a fun time, and she seems quite lovely.” He added quickly, “Like a good friend. You ’aven’t made one in a long time.”

            “You’re circling this conversation, moron.”

            “I’m rerouting it to the beginning to prove my point. No matter your protest, it all comes back to not backing out on your promises for once. It’s not rocket science.”

            “Surely it isn’t considering it’s coming from you.”

            2D patted the outfit laid out on the bed. “No, it’s literally not rocket science, it’s good manners. Get dressed, Muds. It’ll be nice to spend a few hours in the city anyway.”

            “Manchester, Stoke – it’s all shit.” Murdoc growled, and threw his legs over the side of the bed. 2D watched with a smirk as the older man sulked around the bed and began dressing, turning away only when Murdoc slipped out of his underwear to put on the fresh pair. Upon hearing the clanking of a belt buckle, 2D turned back around. Murdoc stood topless with his inverted cross resting against his chest, pulling the black V-neck shirt over his head. He smoothed out his hair with a hand, grabbed a pair of boots, his wrinkled packet of cigarettes and his wallet. Inwardly, 2D smiled. Murdoc usually needed prompting to “remember” these things – except the cigarettes – and was generally confrontational about it the entire time. His lack of outward aggression and sudden display of (sulky) independence (with the dressing at least) gave 2D hope about the situation. Murdoc came around the bed and plopped down, shoving his feet into his boots. He paused, side glancing at 2D.

            “What are you lot gonna do?”

            2D shrugged. “Don’t know about Noodle or Russ, but I intend to grab some continental breakfast and head back to bed.”

            “Oh, that’s just great,” grumbled Murdoc as he stood and seized his jacket, punching his arms into each sleeve. “Make me get up and entertain inhumanly energetic American women while you enjoy breakfast in bed.”

            “I think you’re getting the better end of the bargain, Muds.”

            “Bargain, _ha_. There’s no bargain here, Adolf, you’re marching me straight to the train.”

            “Please don’t compare meeting up with Cal to Nazi Germany, Muds, it’s inappropriate. Besides, I don’t think she’ll get it. Americans don’t ’ave that sorta humor.”

            Murdoc rolled his eyes and pulled a cigarette from the nearly empty pack. Wedging it behind his ear, he moved towards the door. “Get the fuck out of my room, now, you’ve made your point.”

            2D hopped up and trailed Murdoc. “I really hope you two ’ave a good time,” he remarked as Murdoc closed the door behind them.

            “Oh, I’ll make sure of it so that I can give you enough details to fuel your wet dreams for the next month, how about that?”

            2D cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve told you I ’aven’t wet the bed since that one night my mum left ‘Pinocchio’ playing while I fell asleep and ’ad that horrid dream about Monstro.” He gritted his teeth and shook his head, exhaling as he expelled the memory again. “Just ’ave fun for once. Be you. For whatever reason, she seems to respond well to that.”

            “This isn’t a _thing_ , 2D, and fuck you.” Murdoc pushed past 2D, digging his hands into his jacket pockets. Behind him, 2D watched, a wide smile overcoming his face.

* * *

            In her room, Cal glanced at her cell phone as she pulled her hair into a high ponytail, smoothing out her bangs while giving herself a onceover in the mirror. Grabbing her eyeliner pen, she dragged out the tips of black wings from the corner of each eye, trying once more to make them as even as possible before finally giving up. Makeup was stupid, she considered, and tossed the pen into her bag. She donned a light gray flannel button-up with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of black leggings, and her slip-ons. Shoving her card and driver’s license into the breast pocket of the flannel, she picked up her phone and checked it one last time. Nothing – no new texts, missed calls, nada. She sighed, then shrugged, laughing to herself. It’s fine, she told herself, she was great company. There was plenty to do before her return to reality, and she didn’t need anything – or anyone – to complicate that. Grabbing her journal, she tucked it under her arm and stuck a pen into the top of her ponytail. She’d have plenty of time to explore and write and doodle. She could feel a ping of inspiration coming on, and it was exhilarating.

            In the lobby, she unlocked her phone to search for the nearest place to eat that wasn’t free shitty hotel food. She knew that eating at the buffet was the financially responsible choice, but the idea of another morning of crepes and toast sounded so unappetizing that it made her cringe. What she really wanted was a hearty breakfast burrito loaded with chorizo, eggs, shredded cheese and some salsa. Guacamole, too, if there was a god, but she figured that was too much to ask of the English. Swiping up on the screen, Cal proceeded forward until she ran directly into a stone-like being she was sure was a column in the hotel. Turning every shade of red, she snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes at Murdoc, a smirk creeping over her face.

            “You asshole.”

            “You ran into me,” he remarked, returning her smirk with his own. His phone was out, too.

            “What are you doing here?”

            “I thought we had plans today.”

            Cal laughed. “Oh, by some mystical force, you remembered that in your drunken state. You must have some sort of super powers.”

            “Hardly,” said Murdoc. “I won’t lie, 2D jogged my brain a bit with his incessant pestering.”

            “I don’t think you’d be anywhere without 2D. He basically tucked you in last night, made sure you didn’t get run over outside The Pig with all your gallivanting and strange pledge of allegiance-type shit. It was hilarious, actually.”

            Murdoc felt the heat in his cheeks. “Well, the fact is that I dragged my severely hangover arse over here to entertain you some more. How would you like to proceed?”

            “First off, _thank you_ for being such a thoughtful human being, Prince Greenleaf. Clearly, I can’t survive without your intrusion in my life. Secondly, I’m starving, so where can we get some grub in this city? I’m looking less for pomp and more for substance, like a massive breakfast burrito. And coffee – black coffee. None of this tea bullshit.”

            “Breakfast burrito, eh? This isn’t California, love. I can’t promise you a burrito, per se, at least not the type you’re looking for.” He chuckled, and Cal punched him in the shoulder. “Oy, fuck, you’ve got a set of knuckles.”

            “Get on about the food, man.”

            “Have you had a proper English breakfast?”

            “I told you I don’t want any pomp, Niccals. And I hardly think you’re the kind of man to want pomp either.”

            “Truer words have never been spoken, but an English breakfast is something I think you’ll appreciate in terms of substance. Come, let’s walk.”

            Murdoc led them outside along the busy street, side by side as they made their way beyond the hotel. Many were wrapped up in jackets, despite the peering of the sun between the gray layer of clouds above. They made small talk, Murdoc mostly inquiring about his antics from the night before. Cal laughed at his reactions as he looked between her and the shops that lined the street until he finally stopped and indicated to a storefront with the upturning of his chin.

            “Here’s a spot.”

            Cal looked at the storefront tucked between the building, its red trim and large windows inviting. “It’s cute.”

            “Cute? Whatever, it’s what we’re looking for.” Murdoc held the door open for her and Cal entered, greeted by a hostess that led them to a small table next to one of the front windows. Sitting down, she ordered a mug of black coffee, while Murdoc asked for a Bloody Mary and a cup of Earl Grey tea.

            “It’s all about balance,” he justified to both the waitress and Cal, though neither of them asked. “While you’re here, we’re ready to order.”

            “I haven’t even looked at the menu,” Cal interjected.

            “You wanted substance,” he insisted, and Cal gave him a curious stare, resting her chin on her fist as Murdoc ordered them both a “full English,” consisting of bacon, bangers, poached eggs, baked beans, and fried tomatoes. He ordered himself a side of toast and asked Cal if she wanted one, too.

            “What the hell,” she shrugged. “You’re already bringing out the whole damn kitchen.”

            Amused, the waitress left and returned with their drinks before slinking off again. However, Cal noticed that the waitress, a younger woman in her mid-twenties or so, continually came by the table to refill Cal’s water and offer Murdoc more tea. She seemed to know him. Cal wanted to say something on the topic but resisted. It was best not to know. The company was nice enough without the added layer of Murdoc’s celebrity, if indeed that was what this was.

            Cal’s eyes widened when their food finally arrived, Murdoc grinning at her with challenge in his eyes.

            “I won’t fuss if you can’t finish it,” he remarked, taking his knife and fork, cleanly cutting into one of the sausages. “Honestly, 2D and Russel are the only two I know that can wipe the plate clean and order more.”

            “Jesus Christ, this is a shit-ton of food,” Cal admitted. “I’m going to have to do some serious running when I get home.”

            “You work out regularly?”

            “I try to. I swim a lot. Surf. To balance out the booze intake.” She gave him a wink. “Balance, right?”

            He nodded and held up his Bloody Mary to her cup of coffee, both clanking their glasses together. The silence settled over them for a bit as they ate, Murdoc inquiring how she liked the food. The waitress came by a few more times, Cal asking Murdoc if they knew each other. Murdoc shrugged, stating that he’d been there once or twice but she wasn’t familiar.

            “Probably a fan,” Cal teased, and Murdoc politely laughed with her, though he wondered how serious she was being. He still wasn’t sure what she knew about him, if anything, and decided not to pursue the matter. He was enjoying the simplicity of her company and her witty remarks on how he used silverware for everything.

            “This is why you Americans are so barbaric. Flatware was invented for civilized man.”

            “Sausage doesn’t need to be carved. My fingers are perfectly capable.” She picked up a piece and dipped it in some yolk, and popped it into her mouth. “Easy peasy.”

            “Says every slag in the alley.”

            “What does that mean?”

            Murdoc chuckled. “I don’t know if it’s more fun you not understanding me or when you do. Your clever tongue is most challenging and enjoyable, and yet when you’re confused … it’s equally so.”

            “Funny, I don’t know if your self-proclaimed charm is intriguing or if I should feel sorry for you.”

            “Trust me, either way, my ego craves the attention.” He mopped up the remaining yolk on his plate his last piece of toast.

            “So, what do you have up your sleeves for this morning now that we’ve been fed to the max?”

            “That’s kind of on you.”

            “You’re the one with the time limit.”

            “Yeah, but you’re the tourist. What kinds of shitty tourist things do you feel you need to do?”

            Cal mulled over the question as she sipped on her coffee. “You know, nothing in particular comes to mind. Are there any points of interest you think I should see?”

            “Not really,” replied Murdoc, “mostly because I don’t care for any of it. However, there’s a place we can go that may be of some significance to you.”

            Cal leaned forward, resting her mug on the table top. “I’m intrigued.”

            “I bet you are.” Murdoc waved the waitress over who promptly hustled with another bag of tea.

            “Another cup of tea, Mr. Niccals?”

            “Just the bill, please.” Murdoc grabbed his wallet as Cal reached for shirt pocket. Murdoc waved his hand at Cal, who shot him a look. “I’ve got this, Charity Case.”

            “I can pay for mine at least.”

            “You can’t actually,” said Murdoc as handed some bills to the waitress, “because I just did.” The waitress beamed down at him and hurried back to the till.

            Cal rolled her eyes, shoving her money back into her pocket. “How is it you still manage to be an asshole when you’re being nice?”

            “It’s a gift.” Murdoc downed the last of the Bloody Mary and hopped off the stool. “Let’s get a move on, shall we? We’re going to be on the road for a bit.”

            Casting a curious glance at him, Cal followed Murdoc outside where they grabbed a cab and headed south. The route was mostly familiar because she’d taken it every day to go to The Pig. For a moment, she thought that’s where they were headed, and slight disappointment overcame her until they passed the Stoke exit. She relaxed back into her seat and watched the city pass, Murdoc making commentary every now and again. He chatted casually about points they came across from his childhood, including an old pottery where he fell on a pile of bricks and earned his first medical transport that ended with stitches. There was also the alley where he got into his first fist fight, and another where he’d gotten so drunk he’d put his hand through a glass window, granting him his second round of stitches. Cal giggled at these stories, as unconventional as they sounded for childhood memories, but she appreciated them nonetheless. In a guarded way, Murdoc colored in his outline and Cal was beginning to see more of a picture. He was obviously a troubled youth with no mention of family, except for a brother who introduced him to music. She didn’t get much more out of him besides that, and while she wanted to ask him to go deeper, she refrained. He was still a stranger and this was still a very casual, temporary encounter, so there was no point in making it anything more than two people sharing a cab to some unknown destination. Between the weight of the food and the melodic tone in which he spoke, Cal was certain she could fall asleep, though whenever something of interest for him came about, his voice got a little higher, which roused Cal a bit. Excitement was not an emotion she thought possible in him, but after hearing about his first police chase after breaking into a car and his first stint in jail as a teen, Cal saw the flood of his past overcome him, his features animated in a way that didn’t seem normal for him. It’s not that he romanticized his actions, but there was something in the way in which he explained each memory that brought about a playfulness she didn’t realize he had within him.

            “I was a terrible youth,” he sighed, his mind far away. “Not that the terribleness got any better with age …”

            “Are you still stealing cars and getting into fights?”

            “Not recently.” Murdoc smirked at her, both of them slouched along the backseat, staring out their respective windows at the passing landscape. “I enjoy a good joust at the pub every now and again.”

            “You’re some kind of criminal, Niccals.”

            “I’m not proud, as such, but I’m not in regret over it, either. It’s just the way it all came to be.”

            “A victim of circumstance, eh?” She turned her head and cocked an eyebrow at him, to which he turned his and chuckled. “What a crock of shit.”

            He shrugged. “What’s done is done.” Turning back to the window, Murdoc sat up and tapped her on the shoulder, pointing beyond the glass. “There it is.”

            Cal leaned towards him, craning her neck to see the sign out the window. It was an exit to Stratford-upon-Avon, and she glanced at him, confused.

            “Give it a moment,” he assured her, staring down at her. “It’s right up your alley.”

            The cab parked on Hanley Street and Cal’s eyes widened when she saw a sign that read The Shakespeare Center along the front of a wide building. Her heart pounded in her chest as Murdoc exited the cab, holding the door open for her. She gripped his hand as he assisted her out, her mouth hanging open as stared at the building in awe. Shakespeare wasn’t her favorite author of all time, but to be standing on grounds upon which he’d walked and knowing that before her were parts of his writing genius a short pace away, were special – underscored by the fact that of all the places Murdoc could have taken her on this drive, he chose to take her here. She was both shocked and overcome with excitement.

            Gingerly, he let his hand slip out of hers and shoved them into his pockets.

            “Look, I don’t know much about this place at all – never been, actually,” Murdoc admitted, glancing around. “So you lead me. What do you want to do first?”

            “What’s our time?”

            “Don’t worry about that. Shall we head to the front and see what the old bastard’s got to offer an impotent writer?”

            They spent an hour meandering through the main house, Cal reading through the trivia on the plaques that lined their walk, and then headed out the garden where people snapped photos and such. Cal took a seat on stone bench, Murdoc sitting next to her, and pulled out her journal.

            “What’s that?”

            “Just notes and thoughts,” she replied, and started jotting down something. Murdoc looked away to be polite. “I figure it necessary to try to write something while I’m at the birthplace of Shakespeare.”

            “How about, ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, there’s a pub ’round the corner, I’m at least five drinks overdue’?”

            Cal laughed, smacking him on the arm with her journal. “You’re such a poet, Niccals.”

            “It must be the air – it’s simply magical,” he teased.

            “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up. But we can’t stay too long, you need to get back.”

            Murdoc shook his head and carried on, glancing back at her as she ducked her head down at her journal again. He smiled, noting how quickly she wrote. He hoped she was inspired to some degree. That feeling was a wonderful one, a high he enjoyed so much, and he could tell by the enthusiasm in each flick of her pen that she enjoyed it just as much.

            He retreated to The Old Thatch Tavern and took a seat by the window, watching tourists and locals pass as he sipped on a pint of beer. Overhead, the sky grew darker until he noticed rain droplets gathering along the cracks in the sidewalk. After a while, Cal ran past the window, clutching her journal to her chest, and then slipped upon entering the tavern, catching herself on the wooden doorframe. Murdoc laughed and waved her over, noticing the redness forming along her cheeks. She laughed at herself and sat down across from him, smoothing out her bangs.

            “Vans have no traction at all in actual weather,” she chuckled, and Murdoc slid his pint to her. He motioned for another to a passing waitress.

            “Did you write the next great American play?”

            “Hardly,” she said as another pint was set before Murdoc. “But I got some thoughts down, so I’m happy.”

            Murdoc nodded and took a sip.

            “Murdoc …”

            He stared over his glass at her, the sound of his first name foreign to his ears considering she always addressed him by his surname.

            “Thank you. This was a very thoughtful trip.”

            He shrugged, setting his glass down. “It was a no-brainer, really.”

            “I’m going to have to put out for this, aren’t I?”

            “Absolutely,” he remarked. “And not some bloody tease, either – I gave you Shakespeare, the ruddy diamond of plays written in a language that’s as dead as he is. I expect the full Monty.”

            Cal laughed. “It’s going to be clumsy and embarrassing, though.”

            “Sounds like the definition of 2D’s sex life, actually.”

            “I haven’t stripped in ages.”

            “Come again?”

            “I haven’t come once yet.” She gave him a wink, to which Murdoc chuckled.

            “Clever minx, you are.” He paused, eying her. “Did you really strip?”

            Cal laughed, shaking her head. “Not professionally.” She glanced out the window, watching the rain fall in a steady rhythm. “I’m not a huge fan of this weather but the rain is kind of nice. Makes me think.”

            “About what?”

            “About everything. I guess another reason I enjoyed this little outing is because in a strange way it makes me think about my aunt. She was an artist. She lived in Venice, too, when I was younger.” She patted her journal. “I write a lot to her in here. I keep a letter she left to me before she died.”

            “Illness?”

            Cal shook her head. “She killed herself a few years ago, downed a bottle of prescription pills. She had issues but goddamn was she an amazing painter and sculptor. Though she didn’t dabble much with writing, she would have appreciated the beauty of this place … probably more so the dismal aspect of it. I think she would have loved Stoke-on-Trent.”

            “At least someone would’ve.”

            “I know you don’t have the best memories from there but you can’t dismiss where you came from. They brought you here to this moment, all the good and the bad. I assume you make music because of it, or it impacts that in some way. That’s how I see it, anyway, especially in my own writing. With her death. I hate that she’s gone … I really do. Sometimes I get mad at her because of it. She was the only person who understood me and appreciated what I want to do in this world, but … maybe it needed to happen for me to explain my thoughts the way that I do now. How I view life and the world. And maybe with that tragedy my stories will give someone else hope with what they’re going through.”

            “Maybe,” replied Murdoc, though he felt terrible for not saying more. He didn’t know how to articulate his thoughts on the subject or how Cal could think the way she did about places like Stoke. He couldn’t see how anyone could find beauty in the decay of that neighborhood, especially when she hadn’t grown up there.

            “I have a record, too,” she said suddenly, and Murdoc returned his gaze to her. “Not as extensive as yours but I did do some jail time. DUI, after my aunt died. I’ve always been a fan of drinking because it pisses off my parents and frankly, it’s nice to not feel anything sometimes. But after she was gone, I went overboard and nearly ran over some pedestrians along PCH one night after running out on a fight with my dad. I didn’t think that incident would change me the way it did but after I realized I was going down a path I knew wasn’t good, I accepted the consequences, did my time and sought professional help … not to get sober but to help me cool the fire inside. I get a little scared whenever I’m feeling depressed now because of it, makes me wanna drink. So when this shit went down with my book, and with stupid Ryan, and this ongoing notion that I’m not living up to my best potential with the writing, all I’ve wanted to do is binge. And maybe I have a little bit but it’s not as bad as before. I can’t let it get that bad again. I almost lost everything that night. And thankfully, because I got caught, I didn’t.”

            Murdoc didn’t say anything. Instead, he tipped his pint towards her and gave her a nod before hiding behind the glass to drink as much of the beer as he could. His mind raced, and he couldn’t keep eye contact with her. It was too odd, like trying to stare into an obscure mirror, except her side of the glass presented the happier, desirable ending, one which he’d never witnessed before. It was blinding. He watched Cal glance down at her watch, his muscles suddenly relaxing at the loss of her stare on him.

            “We should probably go. You’re going to be late.”

            He nodded, left some cash on the table and walked with her to the door. As she pushed it open, he stopped her, shedding off his jacket.

            “It’s raining.”

            Cal smirked. “Is it?”

            Murdoc rolled his eyes and helped her into the jacket. It was warm against her arms and torso, and she shoved the journal into it to keep it from getting wet.

            “Where should I tell him to go?” asked Murdoc once they were both in the back of a cab.

            “My hotel. I’m in the mood to get some more writing done.”

            On the way back to Manchester, they both kept quiet, again staring out the windows on either door. At one point, Cal began to fall asleep, her head against the window. A small smile crossed Murdoc’s face as he watched her eyes fight to remain open, until the vibration in his jean pocket alerted him. Pulling out his phone, he saw a text from 2D across the screen.

            ‘We R starting but take UR time.’ Then another: ‘Unless UR drunk, in which case don’t come.’

            Responded Murdoc: ‘Wish I was. Be there in 30.’

            Thereafter, the cab parked along the curb at Cal’s hotel, and Murdoc gently touched her shoulder.

            “We’re here,” he said quietly, and Cal sat upright, blinking in alarm.

            “Jesus fucking shit,” she gasped, turning to Murdoc, and then laughed. “Did I fall asleep?”

            “Yeah, and now apparently have Tourette’s.”

            “I had this gnarly dream, man.” She ran her hands over her bangs. “It was like I was on this wave face and everyone kept telling me not to surf it, like I was several hundred feet up this mountain of green. But I felt so compelled. I wasn’t afraid at all.”

            “Did you do it?”

            She looked at him. “I don’t know. You woke me up.”

            “Would you ’ave?”

            “I’d die if I did.” She sighed. “It’s been a while since I’ve dreamt about the beach.”

            “It’s probably because you’re leaving tomorrow.”

            The realization washed over Cal like a bucket of ice water. He sat silent next to her, expressionless.

            “I forgot.” She offered him a small smile. “Stupid, right?”

            “It is stupid,” he replied, his voice low. “You’re not, though.”

            “Thanks, Niccals. I can always count on you to remind me how stupid I’m not.”

            Murdoc offered her a curl of his lips. He reached for her shoulder, hesitated, and then awkwardly gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not good at this, obviously. At all, really. I don’t usually hang out with not stupid American girls I find terrorizing the bleak town-folk of shit communities. However, I will say this … I’ve enjoyed this time. I really ’ave.”

            Cal placed her hand over his. “You’re not in love with me, right Niccals?”

            “Thankfully, no. You?”

            “No. Though it’s really hard not to – you’re such a goddamn Romeo.”

            “I’d like to think we’re more like Titus and Tamora. We’d probably end up doing some fucked up shit to one another.”

            Cal beamed, resting her palms over her chest. “ _Titus Andronicus_. You’re giving me major lady wood, Niccals. Just the thought of the cannibalism and the torture … you’re so romantic.” She laughed as Murdoc playfully pushed her shoulder, and she opened the door on her side. “Seriously, you have my number. Maybe one day we’ll run into each other again on some drunken escapade in a shithole somewhere.” She stepped out of the cab and leaned into the doorframe. “See ya around, asshole.”

            “Now you’re giving me wood.” He gave her wink, and she closed the door, retreating into the hotel lobby. As the cab pulled away, Murdoc gave him the address to the studio, and then looked back. She was already gone.

* * *

            “Was it worth it?” Russel questioned the moment Murdoc walked into the studio, the band assembled at their respective instruments. One of the studio hands sat on a stool with Murdoc’s bass. Murdoc promptly pulled the instrument from the young man’s hands and lit up a cigarette.

            “‘From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,’” he muttered, the cigarette balanced between his lips as he tuned the bass.

            “We weren’t replacing ya, Muds,” remarked 2D behind the keyboard. “He works here.”

            “I’m not an idiot, 2D. I’m irreplaceable.”

            “That’s debatable.” Russel crossed his arms over his chest.

            “Can we get a move on, now, I’m here,” snapped Murdoc, strumming the bass furiously. “And for your bloody information, this one –” he pointed angrily at 2D, “told me to take my time.”

            “Are you drunk?” Russel asked.

            “No!”

            “On drugs?”

            “ _No!_ ”

            “Sexually satisfied?”

            “ _For the love of sweet Satan, will you start the fucking song already?!_ My dick is of no importance here.”

            “Just start the song,” commanded Noodle, and Russel slammed a drumstick onto his set, igniting the band in thunderous play, not of an established song but in general release. 2D yelled incoherently into the microphone, digging into the keys with graceful, slender fingers, until lyrics came about. Noodle strangled the neck of her guitar, her knuckles turning white, while Murdoc plucked at his bass with such anger he was sure the strings would break at any moment. The studio staff watched them, confused by the choice of sound and unsure as to whether this was a new direction in which the band was headed. They continued like this for the next hour, only pausing to let 2D use the toilet.

            “You must be sober. You’ve never been this on.”

            “Fuck you, Rus,” spat Murdoc as he set his bass in its stand and pulled his shirt off, using it to wipe his face.

            “You both need to cool it,” snapped Noodle. “We sound great for once. Let’s not spoil it with negativity.”

            Russel and Murdoc glared at each other as 2D returned to his microphone stand, smiling pleasantly.

            “Wow, all, we sound swell!” He adjusted his pants and took the mic between his hands. “Shall we carry on, then?”

            “More freestyle or an actual song?” questioned Noodle.

            “Let’s play a song. ‘Feel Good’,” chimed Russel, staring directly at Murdoc.

            “Are you going to attempt to rap or is your _friend_ available for parlor tricks again?” retorted Murdoc.

            “It’s either me or him, so let’s do this. It ain’t about the lyrics, anyway – they’re fine. It’s us that needs the practice.”

            They played a variety from their previous albums, carrying on with concentrated enthusiasm until Russel finally broke five of his drumsticks and Noodle spun around into 2D, knocking over his keyboard. Murdoc ceased strumming and turned to find Russel holding up his snapped stick, and Noodle and 2D entangled in wires and machinery.

            “What the fuck …?” he started, when suddenly he chuckled maliciously, and Noodle and 2D burst out laughing, Russel following suit.

            “Buncha dumbasses,” remarked Russel, tossing the drumstick away.

            Murdoc set his bass onto its stand and sunk down to the floor, his skin glinting with sweat. The flooring was cool against his back as he rested his head on the wires next to 2D’s. The laughter died down as the three of them stared up at the ceiling, Russel resting over the top of his drum set.

            “What did you and Cal do today?” asked 2D, breaking the silence.

            Murdoc laced his fingers together upon his chest, considering the question. “We smoked some grass and fucked like rabbits in the back of an abandoned car.”

            “What did you actually do?” Noodle asked.

            Murdoc hesitated, exhaling up at the ceiling. “Took her to Stratford to the Shakespeare place. She’s into that sorta thing, ya know? Boring as shit, I say. The old fuck had quite the forehead, though.”

            “That’s extremely romantic, Rōjin.”

            “Bollocks.”

            “Surprisingly, it is,” added Russel.

            “Oh _please_.”

            2D turned on his side, propping his head up on his palm. “If the geode convention came into town, would you take me? I’m into that sorta thing.”

            Murdoc turned to him, scowling. “The fuck is wrong with you, wanker?”

            2D smirked. “It’s cos I’m not as pretty as Cal is,” he teased.

            Noodle and Russel chuckled.

            “It’s because geodes are stupid and boring, like you. But you do ’ave a point, Cal is much prettier than you.”

            They all remained quiet, Murdoc becoming self-conscious over his words. He sat up, not looking at any of them, and grabbed his phone. To his surprise, he had a single text message across his screen – from Cal.

            “We should probably get some food,” commented 2D to the group as he sat up, Noodle following him. They started talking about possible places to have dinner, but Murdoc drowned them out as he unlocked his phone and read the message.

            ‘I have your jacket, asshole.’

            A smile overcame Murdoc’s face as he replied, ‘Couldn’t go without seeing me again, could you?’

            Came the quick reply: ‘You wish. God knows what diseases I’ve contracted by wearing it.’

            ‘Not if you’re wearing clothes.’ He added, ‘Some clever minx told me they make creams for those.’

            Two laughing emojis came in, then, ‘I can send it if you’re busy. No problem.’

            ‘We should probably take advantage while we’re on the same island. Pig?’

            ‘Tonight?’

            ‘Tonight. Gimme an hour.’

            He waited. After a minute, her response finally came: “‘Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night;/Give me my Romeo; and, when I shall die,/Take him and cut him out in little stars,/And he will make the face of heaven so fine/That all the world will be in love with night.’” Murdoc stifled a laugh, covertly glancing back at the group to make sure they hadn’t heard, but they carried on about whether pizza or hamburgers would be the better choice for supper, which was starting to get heated.

            ‘You looked that up, didn’t you?’

            ‘Yep. I never finished Romeo and Juliet. It was so boring.’

            ‘Too true. See you soon, Cal.’

            ‘Adios, Niccals.’

            Murdoc shoved the phone back into his pocket and stood, pulling his shirt over his head. Smoothing his hair into place, he turned to the group, Noodle and 2D still on the floor, Russel now laying behind them.

            “Rōjin, what are your thoughts on calzones?”

            “Well, they’re the pies of the pizza world. Less messy. Efficient when on the go.”

            2D sprang up. “What a magnificent analogy, Muds! I shall henceforth consider calzones as meaty, cheesy pies … though, not meat pies, cos those are separate entirely. Actually, that’s quite confusing.” He scratched his head while Murdoc stared at him with blatant irritation.

            “Are you done?”

            2D nodded. “But Russel wants burgers.”

            “With garlic fries,” interjected Russel.

            “Try Rudy’s off Cotton Street. I believe there’s a burger spot ’round the bend there, walking distance.”

            Noodle stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “I asked you about calzones because I wanted to know if that’s what you wanted to eat … but I take it you’re not coming with us?”

            Murdoc shrugged. “Might get a drink, actually.”

            “With Cal?” came 2D’s enthusiastic question.

            “She has my jacket. I need to get it back before she’s off.”

            “Mhmm.” Russel sat up, eying Murdoc suspiciously. “I don’t care where you run off to, Muds, but you better be here _on time_ tomorrow. Ten a.m. No exceptions.”

            “But if Cal wants breakfast …” started 2D, but halted when Russel shot him a look.

            “ _No exceptions_. If I have to drag your alcohol-poisoned, drug-ridden, decrepit-sexed-up bag of bones to this studio to be on time, so help me, I will. We have shows coming up and we have to be on our game. Some of us _want_ to be in this band.”

            “And you think I don’t, Russel?” countered Murdoc. “I’m here, aren’t I? I have every intention of being here _tomorrow_ , promptly at ten, _mum_. All I want is my _fucking jacket back tonight_. Has nothing to do with tomorrow.”

            “Like I said, I don’t care what you do, just do it _before_ rehearsal tomorrow.”

            Murdoc growled and turned on his heel, marching towards the door. He shot Russel one last glare before he slammed the door behind him.

* * *

            Murdoc glanced around The Pig, wet from the rain which had become heavier along the ride into Stoke. Only the leathery couple glowered at him from their booth in the back and he gave them a curt grin, baring his teeth at them as he walked to the bar. Albert was wiping down the counter and when he saw Murdoc, he frowned, then looked around.

            “She gone?” he questioned, reaching for a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

            “Who?” Murdoc grabbed a stool and an ashtray, and promptly lit up a cigarette. He took a drag and exhaled, creating a cloud between him and Albert.

            “Cal, that American she-devil!”

            “Boisterous, yes. Borderline-drunk, definitely. She-devil – _no_. If you’re afraid of the devil, you’re looking at ’im.”

            “Bah, you’re biased,” Albert waved the comment away, setting the bottle in front of Murdoc. “She’s a nuisance.”

            “Admit it, she’s been the liveliest thing in this wretched tomb.”

            “We prefer to rot in peace, thank you.”

            “And you will, come tomorrow. Now bugger off, I’ve some drinking to do.” He pointed his fingers at Albert, his cigarette wedged between his index and middle fingers, “And you’ll do best to shut your trap about her, you miserable wretch.”

            Albert grew red in the face and stomped off towards the back of the bar. Murdoc chuckled as he poured himself a glass. His body warmed with every sip of the amber liquid, simultaneously calming with each inhale of the cigarette. After some time, a cold draft hit him in the back like water down his spine, but before he could turn, Cal draped his jacket over his shoulders, at which he started to remove it again.

            “No, no, it’s still raining,” he told her, handing it back. “You’ll catcha cold.”

            Cal clutched the jacket against her chest, gave him an eye-roll, and put it back on. “And you won’t?”

            “I was born of this weather,” replied Murdoc, the whiskey settled in his belly. “Your skin’s accustomed to sunshine and rainbows.”

            “When they manage to form beneath the intense layer of smog, yeah.” Cal waved to Albert, a large grin across her face. “Bestie, I’m back!”

            Murdoc nudged her, pointing to Albert with his drained glass. “He’s backstabber, that one. Talking shit about you.”

            Playing along, Cal’s jaw dropped. She put her hands on her hips. “Albert-o-rino, is this true?”

            Albert seized a bottle of beer and thrust it onto the bar top in front of her. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough!”

            “You know,” said Cal pleasantly as she took the bottle, “I may buy property here. This has been my favorite part of my little mental health adventure.” She raised her bottle to him and took a long gulp as Albert’s upper lip twitched. He grabbed a mop and started cleaning the floor, pushing it in violent rotations.

            “You’re going to give that one a coronary.”

            “Apparently I have that effect on Englishmen.”

            “I’m still tick-tocking along.”

            “Then I’m not doing my job.” Cal gripped the bottle, staring down at it as her smile waned. “So, where are you guys off to after this?”

            Murdoc shrugged, swirling the whiskey in his glass. He took another puff off his cigarette. “We’re discussing things this week with our managers.”

            “Plural?”

            “Apparently we’re that much a of headache.”

            “I can’t see that from the rest of the band …” She nudged him but he didn’t look at her, his dark eyes on the glass.

            “I imagine we’ll do some shows on this side of the world, travel back to the states. Maybe pop by your neck of the woods.” He side-glanced her. “But who knows, really?”

            “You don’t seem like the type to be so willy-nilly about your music.”

            “I’m not, actually. Dunno, it’s been a strange sort of time as of recent. Feels like everything’s moving and I’m just …”

            “Just what?”

            “Hanging on, I suppose.”

            Cal nodded, observing his absent rotation of the glass. “The mind is a terrible thing sometimes.”

            He eyed her. “Why d’ya say that?”

            “Because it’s tiring. Gnaws at you, especially when something’s off.” She stared back at him. “You seem like something’s off.”

            “I don’t mean to be a buzzkill.”

            “You’re not. I mean beyond this,” she indicated between them with her beer bottle. “Something deeper, Niccals.”

            “Cal, you needn’t try to look inside what’s seated beside you, trust me. There’s no point.”

            “Why?”

            “Because in less than twenty-four hours, you won’t be on that stool anymore, and neither will I.”

            She placed the bottle to her lips, hesitated, and then took a swallow. “I should be thankful for your honesty.”

            “You should. It’s what you treasure, and that’s what makes you unique. I respect that about you.” When she didn’t look at him, Murdoc turned fully on the stool to face her, took her by the chin and turned her face to his with care. “We can sulk about it or relish these final moments. I didn’t get this face when I dropped you off at your hotel earlier.”

            The corner of her mouth curled. She clasped a hand around his wrist, gently removing his hand. “Don’t flatter yourself, Greenleaf, there’s more going on in this brain than you think. Of course I want the truth, but I can’t deny the way it feels.” She released his wrist and he lowered it into his lap. “You’re right – why sulk about the inevitable? Might as well live as long as we can, right?”

            “That’s the ticket, love,” said Murdoc. “Nothing’s promised so we can’t waste any time. And if tomorrow brings the end of this chapter, let’s bold the fucking ink to the end.”

            Cal leaned closer to him, licked her lips. “What’d you have in mind?”

            “You, me, another bottle and the hotel ’round the corner.”

            Cal slapped the bar top. “You’re on, Niccals.”

            While Cal downed the final bit of whiskey from the bottle, Murdoc commanded Albert to bring out two more and tossed a wad of cash on the bar. Rolling his eyes, Albert fulfilled the request. Murdoc handed a bottle to Cal and linked his arm with hers, pulling her towards the door.

            “So long, you cunts!” Murdoc called over his shoulder, flipping off the sparse room.

            “Wait!” Cal pulled away from Murdoc and ran back to the bar, hopping over it. Wide-eyed, Albert backed up as Cal threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. “It’s been a great time, Albert!”

            “ _What – the bloody – would you – GET OFF ME!_ ”

            Cal ran back to Murdoc, who was laughing hysterically.

            “Lucky you, mate, the _second_ closest time to a woman you’ve ever had, besides falling out your mum!”

            Roaring, Albert reached under the bar and grabbed a shotgun, cocking it with enraged intensity. “If you twats _ever_ come ’round ’ere again, I’ll do you both in and mount your heads on my wall!”

            Murdoc wrapped an arm around Cal and ushered them both out, laughing the entire time while Cal blew him one last kiss. Outside, the rain fell steadily, neither of them concerned about it.

            “I wouldn’t put it past him,” chuckled Murdoc. “I’da shot me, too.”

            “I mean, mounting our heads though … pretty fucking morbid. Creative, definitely.”

            “Definitely! I think our withered heads would certainly class up the joint.”

            “I never thought I’d meet a more tightly-wound man beyond my dad,” said Cal, playfully impressed. “Jesus, the fucking diamonds up that guy’s ass.”

            They carried on down the street, the neighborhood dark and the businesses in the area mostly condemned, except for a few rundown cafes and an overabundance of liquor stores. Turning the corner, Murdoc stopped them before the hotel. He beamed, the rain running over his face as he stared up at its dilapidated exterior.

            “Are you ready for the ride of your life?” he asked, fixated on the building.

            “I’ve never done this before.”

            “Honored to be the one to pop your cherry, love. Let’s go.”

* * *

            A couple hours later, Cal dropped onto the tattered cushion, breathing heavily. Her body was sore, and she could feel the sweat along her skin despite the rain, but staring out at the room and letting the pleasant plucks of the guitar calm her nerves as her cell phone played “Bela Lugosi’s Dead,” she settled back against the weathered fabric that clung to the remaining wooden structure that had once been a couch. Murdoc moved an arm behind her head, and she leaned into him as he smoked next to her, also focused on the room.

            “You did well,” he said quietly.

            “You too. I don’t think I’ve ever worked this hard in my life.”

            He chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done something like this. I’m glad we got to share this moment.” He put the cigarette out on the wood of the arm of the couch and sighed.

            “The room is spinning,” remarked Cal, her body growing heavier with every breath. “I’m probably going to puke.”

            Murdoc pointed out at a corner in the room. “Do it there. If I’m remembering correctly, I’m pretty sure I’ve done shrooms there before, when I was a teen.” Cal laughed. “I’m serious. Either shrooms or acid. Can’t remember anymore. Many trips ago.”

            “What else have you done here? Brought any girls back?”

            Murdoc thought about this. “Actually, no. You’re the first. Most girls expect to have a man take them back to a hotel to ‘make love’ or whatever. Hippie-dippie shit. I’ve never had one so inclined to further demolish a building that should really be ashes in this empty lot.”

            “How long has it been abandoned?”

            “Fuck, since I was ten I think. I came here with friends to throw rocks at the windows – there was glass still standing then. Good times. Obviously done drugs here. Tagged. Pissed. Knew a bloke who shit once. And now, watched you further trash this godforsaken rubble. Felt good, though, eh? To grip that piece of wood and knock the shit out of this structure? Lucky find, really. Damn ruddy kids come in waves nowadays without proper appreciation for the craft of releasing pent-up aggression on unassuming abandoned buildings.”

            “I’m going to throw up.”

            “Go, go, bless this house. I’m going to have a pee, myself.”

            They went to opposite sides of the room, clumsily maneuvering over rotted debris and did their business. When they were finished, they made their way back to the couch and sat again, Murdoc picking up his empty whiskey bottle and chucking it across the room at what was left of one of the walls. It smashed, shattering into amber shards that rained down into the rubble.

            “There’s such a beauty in chaos,” said Cal, her voice quiet, as she laid her head against his chest. The whiskey sloshed around in her stomach, making her queasy. She closed her eyes and felt Murdoc’s chest expand with every breath he took.

            “Tell me more.” Hesitantly, he cupped his hand over her shoulder, resting his arm against her back.

            “I don’t know, I just … I look around at all this and see potential. A million new things. New ideas. A new story.” She looked up at him. “Destruction’s necessary for growth.”

            “Do you think that’s true for people?”

            “In a way, yes. It can only be a transitional point, though. You can’t linger. Like this place. You do your time and move on, or you become a permanent part of the rubble … left to ‘damn ruddy kids without an appreciation for releasing pent-up aggression on unassuming abandoned buildings.’” She imitated Murdoc’s accent as she recounted his words, laughing afterwards.  

            “You’re trying to make me fall in love with you, aren’t you, she-devil?”

            “It’s probably because of the whiskey and Q Lazzarus playing on my phone right now.”

            “True, true. It’s been a while since I’ve pranced around my bedroom mirror stark naked as I fashion a suitable suit made from the ample parts of the women I’ve murdered.”

            “I never took you as a man to prance.”

            Murdoc shrugged. “When you’re in the mood …”

            “Now you’re just trying to make me fall in love with you, Niccals.”

            “Perhaps we let each other off this once and not fall in love at all. Complication only makes it worse.”

            “Agreed. Mostly because if we fucked right now I’d probably puke on you.”

            “Firstly, I didn’t think fucking was on the table. Bloody shame. Secondly, puke and sex don’t belong in the same action so I think we’ve made the right choice here. Trust me, I’ve tried to make it work – it doesn’t.”

            Cal laughed, squeezing the fabric of Murdoc’s shirt in her fist. “This fucking sucks, man. My luck would be meeting some fucking asshole like you right before leaving.”

            “That’s life, babe. One day when you’re older you’ll understand.” Cal smacked him on the chest and he laughed. “Allow me to further disappoint you: it’s nearly three a.m. Shall we call it a night so that you might find a bit of sleep before you leave?”

            Cal sighed and stood up, Murdoc following. “You’re right, Niccals, let’s do this like a Band-Aid.” She grabbed her phone. “Separate taxis, that way it’s separate ways from here. No expectations, no complications. We won’t have to look at each other at all … just stare back at this crumbling building if we must.”

            “Ah, that’s poetic. Let me guess, Shakespeare, the building represents us?”

            Cal offered him a small smile. She took a hold of his shirt collar and stood on her tip toes to look him directly in the eyes. A wave of panic overcame Murdoc. He swallowed hard. His eyes closed and his lips remained in a tight line across his face as he felt Cal’s cheek rest against his, her arms wrapping around his neck. After a moment, he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist and they stood there beneath the opened ceiling as the rain continued to fall over them. Finally, she released him and pulled off his jacket.

            “Cal, it’s cold.”

            She shook her head. “No expectations.” She held out his jacket to him. Half-heartedly, he took it.

            When the cabs arrived, both drivers offering perplexed looks at their newest fairs, Murdoc opened the door for Cal and she slid in. Shutting the door, he opened the front passenger door and handed the driver some money.

            “Really, asshole?”

            Murdoc gave Cal a smirk. “Like you have any money, Charity Case.” The driver took it, then glanced down at the seat as Murdoc shut the door. He went around to her window as she rolled it down. “Try not to bring down the bloody plane with your fiery personality.”

            Cal smiled up at him. “Try not to get lost in the rubble, Niccals.”

            His stomach sank as she rolled the window up and the cab pulled off.

            “Oy, mate, she’s gone. Shall we get a move on? Ruddy rain is freezing.”

            Murdoc waited a moment and then went to the cab. He shut the door behind him and told the driver the address of his hotel. As it pulled away from the curb, Murdoc mustered all the strength within him to glance back at the building. _It really is a shithole_ , he thought, and turned back around, slouched down along the seat and closed his eyes.

* * *

            At Cal’s hotel, the driver hopped out and opened the door for her. Thanking him and offering him a meager tip (because Murdoc was right, she was broke), she started to head towards the entrance when the driver called after her.

            “Miss, don’t forget your jacket.”

            Cal stopped and turned. “I don’t have a jacket.”

            The driver pulled Murdoc’s leather jacket from the front seat. “Is this not yours? The man you were with left it.”

            A smile broke out across her face. “Well, shit. My mistake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this up! I've been out of town for work stuff and attended a wedding, but am back :] Hope you enjoy this update!
> 
> Chapter 4 Playlist:  
> "Be Quiet And Drive (Far Away) [Acoustic]" - Deftones  
> "Bela Lugosi's Dead" - Bauhaus  
> "Goodbye Horses" - Q Lazzarus


	5. Chapter 5

**Part II.**

_Three months later -_

The committed joggers and cyclists were out along the strand as Cal stayed to the right, allowing people to pass her as she walked. The morning was cool but the moisture was soothing and made her skin feel nourished. To her right, the beach was nearly vacant, except for the scattered belongings of some surfers who were taking advantage of the early morning swells before the onslaught of tourists to come. Above them and the glossy grey surface of the ocean, the sky was a dull blue waiting to be ignited by the rising sun hidden behind the apartments and stores lining the eastern side of the strand to Cal’s left. Catching a sunrise wasn’t an easy feat with the looming hills and business district highlighting the Los Angeles skyline, but Venice Beach always provided front row seating for remarkably colorful sunsets. Though no sunset was ever the same, Cal knew for certain tonight’s would be different – completely so. The tightening of her muscles and the anxiety that hollowed out her stomach reminded her of this as she grabbed the handle of the entrance to La fénix and slipped in. The bar, a blazon ensemble of red, purple, and blue booths, mismatched barstools and tall wooden tables, and walls decorated with paintings, photos and flora, was vacant of patrons and regulars, but the space was loud enough on its own. Cal’s best friend and owner of La fénix, Letícia Martínez, was the sole figure in the room, mopping the dance floor that sat at the back end of the room just before a small stage that was lined with instruments and mic stands.

            “G’moring, Letí,” greeted Cal as she passed between some tables.

            “Hey girl,” returned Letí as she leaned the mop against the stage, wiped her hands on her apron and met Cal at the edge of the dance floor. They kissed each other on the cheek before Cal handed Letí an envelope.

            Letí took it reluctantly. “You sure, Cal? I don’t need this back right now.”

            Cal sat on a stool at the table next to them. “You know how much I hate being in debt. But it’s all there, every last penny. Babe, you don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

            “Please, it’s the least I can do,” remarked Letí, sliding the envelope into her apron as she returned to the mop. “You could’ve just stayed at my place, too – but I already know what you’re gonna say: pero _,_ I hate charity.” She whined the last bit, to which Cal laughed and flipped her off.

            “I was gonna say, pero mamí _,_ I’ll just live at the bar and be your security guard if you let me eat and drink for free. And I’ll dedicate my first-born to you.”

            “I already know your first-born is going to me,” chuckled Letí. “I wouldn’t trust you with a kid.You nearly killed my houseplants while I was in the D.R.”

            “I replaced three of them, actually.”

            “I know. Créeme, there’s no way you watered my weeping Dracaena back into a perfectly happy existence, especially with the ray of sunshine you’ve been lately.” Letí put the mop back into its bucket, removed her apron and tossed it with the envelope onto the stage. She wore a black spaghetti-strap camisole and vibrant blue and green geometrically designed leggings. Around her neck hung a necklace with chunks of turquoise separated with gold beads, which matched the gold bands that adorned the braids on her head, the rest of her hair sitting naturally in a large afro. She walked across the room to the bar.    

            “Is it that obvious?”

            “Girl, if you’d finish the damn book, you wouldn’t be so mopey,” Letí called over her shoulder.

            “It’s missing something, Letí. I need to do some rewrites and my stupid gig with the online magazine isn’t helping. Every time I find a groove I get put onto another assignment and have to switch gears. It’s mentally agonizing.”

            “So quit.”

            “Yeah, sure, and end up on Skid Row.”

            “ _Or_  you can take a handout and stay with me for a bit until the book is done instead of paying on a mortgage for your studio.” She returned to the table with two steaming mugs of coffee. “You want huevos con mangú también?”

            “I was actually thinking about getting a breakfast burrito,” replied Cal, glancing over at the kitchen behind the bar.

            “Carlito’s in the back.”

            “I didn’t wanna bother him.”

            “Girl, he’s the chef. He’s also very concerned that you’re not eating enough. You drink more than you eat.” She bellowed in the direction of the kitchen, “¿Verdad, Carlito?”

            “Sí, un burrito para la flaca,” responded Carlito from the kitchen.

            Cal rolled her eyes, her face flushing as she rested her head on her hand. “Thanks, Carlito,” she called.

            Smirking, Letí took a seat across from Cal. “It’s not just the book is it? It’s tonight.”

            Cal shrugged.

            “You excited?”

            “Well, yeah.”

            “That sounds anti-excited.”

            “It’s just weird.”

            “When you got back, you couldn’t stop talking about the trip … about your English friend.” Letí leaned forward on the table, staring directly at Cal. “And then it died down.”

            “The conversation died down.”

            “But he’ll be here tonight,” remarked Letí.

            Cal ran a hand over her hair, looking away from Letí. “Yeah, I mean … I guess it’ll be nice.”

            Letí sighed. “Three months ago you woulda been stoked – hell, a month ago.”

            “A lot of time has passed. A lot of silence.”

            “You said he’s in a band? He’s touring, yeah? He’s probably busy.”

            “Well yeah. It’s not like that, though. I don’t need attention or anything, it’s just … you know, when you have your favorite primos over for the summer and then they go home for the school year and then suddenly it’s summer again and you have to rekindle all of those fun summertime feelings? It’s a lot of work. Kind of anxiety-inducing, actually. And what’s worse is they’re basically acquaintances, so there’s no history.”

            Letí shook her head. “I think you’re overthinking things. He’s gonna get here and everything’s gonna be fine.”

            “It doesn’t even need to be anything more than that, Letí. It’s not like anything happened. Really. He was just someone to talk to. A kindred spirit in a way. A fiery one at that.”

            “It’ll still be fine. Friend or fuck, you’ll be fine.”

            “ _Not_ fuck.”

            “Like I said, whatever it _may be_ , you’ll be fine.” Letí took a sip of her coffee. “So, they playing a show here?”

            “Actually, I don’t know. 2D just said they’d be in town.”

            “‘2D’? I thought you said his name was Manford.”

            Cal laughed. “Murdoc. He friend is 2D.”

            “Oh, right, _Murdoc_. Something unapologetically white.”

            “Better than ‘Ryan.’”

            Letí cocked an eyebrow. “I guess we’ll see.” She paused. “Why is his friend telling you this and not him?”

            Carlito emerged from the kitchen with a massive breakfast burrito on one of Letí’s festive orange plates. He set it down in the middle of the table, both Letí and Cal thanking him. As he left, Cal returned to Letí, who was eying her with a blatant need for information.

           “2D found me on Facebook and added me. Asked for my number just in case they were headed out this way any time soon. We’ve texted a few times, him mostly just updating me about tour dates. Sent me this weird rock-related meme I didn’t understand but laughed at anyway.” She laughed to herself, still unaware about what he meant, and continued, “He said Murdoc had been under the weather. I don’t know. He actually called me last week to tell me about tonight but didn’t really give me any details. And I when I texted Murdoc about it all I got was a ‘should be a good time, love.’”

            “I’m not digging these vibes, Cal.”

            “He’s not the most emotionally expressive man in the world, Letí.”

            “And who does that sound like?”

            Cal narrowed her eyes at her. “Oo, don’t go there.”

            “Señor Rivera, perhaps?”

            “I told you not to go there.”

            “If this dude’s bad news, you better not fuck around with him.” Letí tore off a piece of the burrito and popped it into her mouth. “I don’t have time for bad dudes, girl. You know I won’t think twice about socking someone’s dick if I have to.”

            “There will be no need for dick socking, thank you,” said Cal, pulling off a corner of the burrito. “I’m not even worried about it because it’s not like this is anything important. It’s just some people who met at a place at one point who happen to be meeting up again in a different place. They’ll probably be gone tomorrow. We can’t complicate things.”

            “Ah yes, the dreaded complication of things. Your mortal enemy. Always afraid to get your toes wet in a little complication.”

            “I don’t need it right now, Letí. I’ve got things I’ve gotta figure out.”

            “You’ve got a job, a place to live, and a book you’re writing – not to mention the greatest friend a gal could ever have. What else do you need to figure out?”

            Cal glanced down at the burrito. “How I’m going to eat this entire thing by myself.”

            “Excuse me? Half of this is mine, considering I supplied it.” Letí gave her a smirk. “Listen, babe, whatever happens tonight, just let it be. I’m sure none of them are worried about it, so why should you? Who knows, maybe a little British influence will give you that needed inspiration for your book.”

            “Maybe.” Cal took a bite, trying to ignore the wave of emotions that overcame her. “It’s hard, Letí,” she continued after a moment, “to be so inspired and then to feel like it’s slipping away again. It’s like a tease. A really cruel tease.”

            Letí watched her, her features softening. “I know, Cal. Have you gone to visit her lately?”

            “I read her some stuff out of my journal when I got back but … haven’t been back since. Whittier seems so far away right now.”

            Letí took Cal’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Eat, flaca _._ We have a lot of burrito ahead of us.”

            A tear slipping down her cheek, Cal chuckled softly.

            “It’s gonna be alright, babe. Lo prometo. We’ve gotten through so much. We can get through anything.”

            Cal nodded and gave her a faint smile.

* * *

           Cal stayed at La fénix for most of the morning, helping Letí get the bar ready for midday opening before walking back to her studio to try to get some work done for an article. The trek back was more intense with the strand alive with beachgoers and vendors selling their merchandise. As she passed one of the tee shirt vendors just before her building, she caught sight of Darren, who sold weed out of his backpack while trying to score dates from impressionable females that crossed his path. Cal tried to elude him by maneuvering around a cluster of German visitors but tripped, landing directly in front of him.

            “Hey Cal! I got some quality kush today if you’re interested.”

            Picking herself up and brushing off her knees, Cal rolled her eyes. “Darren, when I have I ever been interested? I told you, I haven’t smoked in ages.”

            “Now’s the best time to start. It’s legal and I’ve got some great shit – fair pricing, too. For you, I’ll even throw in a discount.”

            “No,” replied Cal bluntly.

            “You always say no.”

            “So stop asking.”

            “Are you ever gonna be fun, Cal?”

            Cal glared at him. “I’m a ton of fucking fun, asshole. Are you ever going to stop being a lowlife?”

            Darren’s eyebrows lowered over the top of this sunglasses. “Hey, I love what I do. I make people happy, and I have a good time doing it. What’s the harm in that, man?”

            Cal shook her head and turned away, stalking back towards her studio. Opening her laptop, she stared at her unfinished article for a bit, opened a Corona and tried to press on with it, getting in a paragraph before finally giving up. Downing the beer, she changed into her bikini and slipped on a pair of board shorts, grabbed her towel and phone, and headed outside. Dodging cyclists and skateboarders, she jogged across the strand to the sand, padding her way over the berm towards the water. It was a clear day. The water was a deep blue, the surface shimmering from the afternoon sun. Dumping her towel and her phone, Cal crossed the wet sand into the tide.

            The entire time she body-surfed, she couldn’t shake the short conversation with Darren. It was stupid, she knew. It’s not like they were friends or anything, but she couldn’t believe those words had come out of her mouth. Darren was a happy individual, as annoying as he was, and he hustled just as hard as everyone else along the strand trying to make a living. The words were foreign yet familiar … _fuck, I sounded like my dad_. Cal dipped under a wave and popped up, smoothing her hair back. The warmth of the sun heated her exposed skin, a wonderful contrast against the cold water. With the next set, she caught a wave inward, heading back to shore. Rubbing the water out of her eyes, she caught sight of Letí sitting on her towel, texting. She made her way up just as Letí tossed the phone aside.

            “How long have you been here?”

            “Not too long,” replied Letí, laying back on her elbows. “I left Carlito in charge. It’s dead right now anyway. Figured you’d be here since I couldn’t get you on the phone.”

            “Went for a swim.”

            “I can see that. When you’re done, let’s grab some carne asada for the grill. Have some beers on your porch before I head back.”

            “You’re going back to Pedro tonight? Why don’t you just stay the night?”

            “We’ll see how it plays out. Your friends might show up.”

            “I haven’t heard anything.”

            “The day’s still young.” She tossed Cal her towel.

            That evening, Cal and Letí were seated on her porch, which was really just the small space between her front windows and the gate that separated her property from the stand. Her tiny red grill sat between them as the meat roasted, a pleasurable aroma catching in the evening breeze. Cal pulled a hoodie on, still in her damp bikini, her wet hair tied up on top of her head. Letí sipped on a Blue Moon with one of Cal’s serape blankets wrapped around her shoulders. To the west, the sky was a deep purple, the sun casting dying orange and red hues just under the horizon. As Cal flipped over a piece of meat, a guy in a pair of boardshorts with bleached blonde hair stopped and leaned on the gate, glancing down at the grill.

            “You ladies looking to share?” He gave them a flirtatious wink.

            “You homeless?” asked Letí, unimpressed.

            “Fuck no.”

            “Then get the fuck outta here, asshole,” she remarked, and the guy backed away, hopped on his skateboard and took off into the crowd.

            “The only downside to this place is the close proximity to stupid humans I have to deal with,” stated Cal, placing the lid back on the grill.

            “And there are some real winners along the strand.” Letí narrowed her eyes just past Cal, but before Cal could turn her head to see what Letí was staring at, two arms wrapped around her shoulders from over the gate. Gasping, Cal was nearly pulled out of her seat when a very chipper – and familiar – voice rang out.

            “ _Cal!_ ”

            “Girl, please tell me you know this blue-haired tweaker,” said Letí, alarmed, halfway out of her seat.

            Cal jumped up and held 2D by the shoulders. “Yes, I do!” She embraced him. “Oh my goodness, you’re here!” She released him as Russel and Noodle walked up to the gate, each of them smiling.

            “Hey Cal!” greeted Noodle, and she gave Cal a hug, Russel following suit.

            “Hey guys!” Cal turned to Letí and introduced them all, “2D, Noodle, Rus, this is my best friend Letí.”

            “Hi,” said Letí with a wave.

            Before she could turn around again, Cal felt that familiar presence near her, smelled the smoke from a cigarette. Her muscles tensed.

            “I recall that jumper,” came a low, familiar voice, and Cal turned to find Murdoc leaning on the gate. “And lack of trousers.”

            A small smile spread across her face, though she tried to play it off by licking her lips. “There you are, stranger. Dramatic as ever.”

            “This must be Manford,” chimed Letí. She sat back on the beach chair, her hands gripping the armrests.

            “Murdoc,” Cal gently corrected.

            Murdoc put out the cigarette under his heel. “It seems the wrong-name epidemic is an American attribute. It’s nice to meet you, Letí.”

            “We’ll see about that,” replied Letí.

            “Oh, I like this one,” said Russel.

            “How’d you guys find me?” Cal asked.

            “Well, I texted you this afternoon, just after we landed,” replied 2D, “but Letí here responded via your phone. She gave us your address and said to come by, that there’d be food. So we came. Not just for the food, though.”

            Cal chuckled and gave Letí a look. Letí looked away, feigning innocence. “How long are you guys in town for?”

            “A month,” said Murdoc, which caught Cal off-guard. “We’re on holiday and decided to come to L.A. We’re planning a small show before we head back out to Europe for the final leg of this tour.”

            “You’re gonna be here for a month?” questioned Cal.

            “We rented an apartment in a place called Santa Monica because I saw they had a roller coaster nearby, like a fair, and I love fairs,” said 2D. “Although this place is quite lovely, too. Very friendly. I’ve already had three people approach me, wanting to share their music and drugs.”

            “Oh Jesus Christ, you said no, right?” asked Letí.

            2D turned to her, producing a few burned CDs from his jacket pockets. “I declined the drugs though. I’ve a specific dealer, should I need him, and I’d hate to be rude towards his services.”

            A quiet fell over everyone until Cal finally realized that she was suddenly the hostess. “Oh, yes, well, I’m going to grab the tortillas. Everyone, please come in, find a seat, and we’ll eat and catch up.” She clapped her hands together and anxiously went into the studio. 2D pulled up another chair, offering it to Noodle, who shook her head and sat herself on the flat surface of the gate. Letí grabbed another chair from inside the door and gave it to Russel, who sat it right next to her. Murdoc passed them all and followed Cal inside.

            It was a small flat, though nice, with gray walls decorated with paintings he was sure were her aunt’s – at least some of them had to be. A plush black couch rested against the wall to his left, on either side of it bookcases filled with books, pictures, and knick-knacks. To his right was her disheveled bed and a bedside table. In the corner beyond the bed was a door which probably led to the bathroom, another door for a closet space, and directly ahead of him was Cal in the kitchen, which was separated from the room by a bar space. She grabbed items from the cupboards haphazardly, not noticing his presence until he finally asked if she needed help.

            Cal dropped a pack of tortillas on the counter, nervously laughing as she gripped her chest.

            “Nice place,” he said, the tension in the room weighing on him. “It’s very you.”

            “Thanks,” she replied, grabbing the tortillas. “I can’t believe you’re standing in my living room.”

            “More like the boundary line between the living room and kitchen.”

            “It’s an expensive little box but it’s home.”

            “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m standing here, either.”

            “Yeah, about that.” She paused and looked directly at him. “You’re gonna be here for an entire month and you didn’t tell me?”

            “It was kind of like a surprise.”

            “Kind of like a surprise … let me guess – 2D’s idea?”

            Murdoc put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “More or less.” He quickly added, “I was totally on board when he suggested it.”

            “And you never texted me about it.”

            “I’m pretty sure the nature of a surprise tends to include the air of one party being unaware of what the other’s doing. I was expecting your reaction to go a little differently.”

            Cal narrowed her gaze at him. “And I was expecting a little more than a handful of texts in the last three months, Murdoc, whether or not you were planning on coming here. Even a basic response to a few of them would’ve been nice.”

            Murdoc ran a hand through his hair. If Cal had asked him what he’d been up to in the past three months, he wouldn’t know how to answer because he couldn’t remember much of it, except for the vivid imagery of the bottom of toilet bowls, the consistent swirling of the atmosphere around him, and the yelling, mostly from his own mouth.

            “It’s been a busy time.”

            Cal took the tortillas and motioned him over with the jerk of her head. “Come grab these. The salsa, too.”

            Murdoc complied, following her out the door as the sky grew dark. The group already had a round of Coronas in-hand while Letí told them about Santa Monica pier, 2D listening intently as the fire from the grill danced playfully in his black eyes.

            “It makes sense why you made me buy so much carne asada now,” said Cal to Letí as they made room for her and Murdoc to set down the tortillas and fixings.

            “Everything I do is for a reason,” chimed Letí. “I’m gonna have a taco on the go, though. I need to get back to the bar.”

            “The bar?” Russel repeated.

            “Yeah, _my_ bar. La fénix. It’s down the strand a short walk. You guys are welcome to stop by any time. It’s a real happening place.”

            “It is,” added Cal. “It’s the best place to go along the strand, and I’m not just saying that.”

            “You better be saying that.” Letí gave Cal a wink.

            “We’ll definitely be stopping by,” said Russel.

            Added Murdoc, “I second that.”

            Letí stood, and she and Cal kissed. “Later, chica. Llámame después.” She turned to the group. “It was very nice to meet you all, and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

            “Very nice to meet you, Letí.” Russel shook her hand tightly. “Are you gonna make it back okay?”

            “Boy please, I know this place like the back of my hand. Nobody’s gonna mess with me.” She passed through the gate, gripping the taco. To Cal, she emphasized, “Llámame,” and proceeded along the strand.

            “What does ‘yah-mah-mah-may-dis-poo-es’ mean?” asked 2D as Cal sat in Letí’s chair.

            “Means ‘call me later’,” responded Murdoc as 2D fixed himself a few tacos.

            “Oh, you speak Spanish now, too?” remarked Cal as Murdoc popped the cap off his Corona. “¿Quieres una cerveza diferente?”

            “Preferably. Do you have anything darker, or perhaps something else entirely? And yes, I do.”

            Russel cracked a smirk. “Go on, Muds, tell ’er about your stint in Mexico.”

            Murdoc narrowed his eyes at him. “We just got here, Rus, I’d hate to lay it on so thick so suddenly.”

            “Please, my balls are so blue with three-month’s worth of anticipation,” Cal muttered, getting up from the chair. “I’ll be right back.”

            As soon as Murdoc saw her disappear into the studio, he clutched the arms of the chair and hissed at Russel, “Don’t even think about tarnishing this.”

            “What are you afraid of? She’s just a friend, right? And friends know shit about each other, even their dirty laundry.”

            “Alright boys, please don’t start,” interjected Noodle, a serious look on her face. “I really can’t take another fight.”

            “I really can’t believe I’m sober right now,” grumbled Murdoc.

            “Murdoc, you’ve been black-out drunk the last 90 days,” Noodle snapped. “I think you owe us a night of normalcy.”

            “I kept to myself,” he countered.

            “You embarrassed yourself and us at the last few rehearsals and interviews. Please use this holiday wisely. We all deserve this.”

            Murdoc said nothing as Cal returned, a dusty bottle of Jack Daniels in hand, in the other a glass.

            “This is all I have right now. If I’d known you were coming, I would have been more prepared.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Cal,” said Noodle. “We weren’t planning on staying late tonight. It’s been a long journey.”

            Cal handed Murdoc the bottle and glass, and sat down. “Tell me about. It took me a week to readjust back into real life.”

            “I can’t believe you left all of this for the U.K.,” remarked Noodle as she turned and leaned on the gate, her gaze caught on the dying horizon. The strand was lit in a warm yellow haze from the lampposts and lighting from the businesses that surrounded them. Stereos from neighboring studios whose inhabitants were also grilling, and from a couple of bars in either direction filtered to them in a clash of tempo. A grinned played on her face as people skated by, some offering nods and waves as they passed.

            2D jumped up, clutching his plate with careful intent, and joined Noodle at the gate. “True dat. This place is simply magical. All these little lights, like fireflies blinking their hellos, and these people, like those fun animatronics you see at theme parks, but not, cos these are real – they really sell the place.”

            “Have you never been here before?”

            “We’ve been to L.A.,” answered Russel as he made another few tacos and doused them each with salsa, “but we never found time to come to the beach.”

            Murdoc added, “Just the Hollywood and downtown areas. Tall buildings, loads of traffic. Like everywhere else.” He held the half-empty glass of Jack Daniels in his palm, staring out into the darkness past Noodle and 2D.

            “Well, Venice is not like anywhere. It’s its own style, personality. You have to be ready to see anything.” Cal looked to Noodle and 2D. “But mostly, you have to have an open mind. Let it inspire you. It can be a little hard here, even sad. But the place has heart, and that’s what I love about it the most. No one comes here for an easy time or to fit in. You come here to be you, in whatever way that is.” She glanced at Murdoc, who was staring at her. When their eyes met, he quickly looked down at his glass and took a long swallow.

            Noodle turned, shrugging her shoulders as she leaned against her elbows on the gate. “Again, you left _this_ for the U.K.?”

            Cal chuckled. “I needed to find a different kind of inspiration. We need to leave our comfort zone every now and again, yeah? Learn something about ourselves.”

            “Find ourselves,” 2D added, still staring out.

            “Find ourselves only to realize we’re more lost than ever.”

            “What do you mean?” Noodle inquired.

            “Well, I always hear people say they’re ‘finding themselves’ but I’ve never actually found my _self_. I’ve learned things about who I am, but it’s a constant process. I think forcing ourselves out of our comfort zones don’t necessarily give us answers, but rather more of a definition of who we are or who we can become. Continuous evolution. It’s opening our eyes to parts of us we either honestly can’t see or choose not to see. And when people don’t grasp that concept, they feel even more lost, when really it’s right there in the mirror, right in front of them.”

            “And what did you find in your search?” Murdoc’s voice was quiet, his dark eyes on her, his face highlighted by the fire.

            “Rubble,” she replied. “A lot of it.”

            “I don’t recall seeing any rubble in Manchester,” remarked 2D, a lanky finger on his chin. “Did see some road work, though. Is that what you mean?”

            Cal chuckled softly and looked up at 2D. “I noticed some. But I meant more so in Stoke.”

            “That makes a lot more sense.”

            Cal lowered her gaze at the grill, the fire cooking nothing at all, as she avoided her left side where Murdoc was. She caught the movement of his arm as he raised his glass to take another sip.

            “I, for one, I am happy you hopped the pond,” stated Russel, breaking the silence that had overcome the group. “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here enjoying these tacos.”

            “Me too,” agreed Noodle.

            “It’s nice to change things up a bit,” Russel added. “And I certainly want to check out your friend Letí’s bar.”

            “We can, totally,” replied Cal. “I don’t know what your guys’ plans are for your vacation but just know that my house is open to you, and while I have a job, my schedule’s pretty flexible. I can give you guys ideas on things to go see and do, I can take you places if you want as well – just say the word and I can help however you want me to.”

            “Murdoc mentioned you surf. We must do the beach,” Noodle told her.

            “Yeah, I’ve never surfed before!” 2D stuffed the last of the tacos on his plate into his mouth. “The beach would be lovely!”

            Cal turned to Murdoc as he threw back the last of the Jack Daniels in his glass. “Anything in particular you wanna see, Niccals?”

            He shrugged, staring down at the glass. “I’m just along for the ride. Whatever you think is necessary, I’ll tag along.”

            Cal nodded, silent. Her body relaxed into the chair, a disappointed lethargy overtaking her. She felt disarmed which angered her, especially because it wasn’t so simple that she could retreat into the house to escape the coldness from her left. And she couldn’t confront it with everyone present; it was too awkward. _So much for no complication. Asshole._

            Before the defeat could manifest into anger, Noodle stood from the gate and looked down at Cal. “This has been such a wonderful way to begin our holiday, Cal. I think I’m going to head back to the apartment. Is everybody else ready? We should all get some rest.”

            “Sounds like a plan.” Russel stood, grabbing his empty beer bottle and some other trash from dinner. “We’ll help you clean up, Cal.”

            Cal jumped up. “No, no – it’s no problem at all, I got it.” She took the items from Russel. “First night’s free of charge.” She gave him a smile and started collecting the other plates. “You guys get back to the apartment and relax. Like I said, if you need anything, let me know.”

            “We’ll hit you up tomorrow for sure,” said Russel. “Maybe hit up Letí’s.”

            “There’s a kitchen attached to the bar. We can do dinner.”

            “Sounds good,” he said, holding open the gate for Noodle and 2D as they passed in front of him. “We’ll catch you tomorrow, then.”

            “G’night guys,” Cal called, trying not to pay attention as Murdoc stood, holding the Jack Daniels bottle.

            “See you tomorrow, Cal!” 2D waved fervidly at her. “Take your time, Muds,” he quickly added as the three of them walked off.

            “Two seconds,” Murdoc called after him. He turned to Cal as she closed the lid on the grill.

            “You can take that with you,” she said over her shoulder, not looking at him. “I’m not a fan of Jack Daniels.”

            “And yet you have it.”

            “It was Ryan’s.” She stood up and turned to him. “Somehow it ended up in my storage unit when I moved.”

            Murdoc smacked his lips. “No wonder it tasted flat.” He capped the bottle and tucked it under his arm. “No matter, booze is booze.”

            “I beg to differ. There are differences.”

            The heat crept up the back of his neck. “Is there something wrong?”

            “Why would there be anything wrong, Murdoc?”

            He crossed his arms, watching her closely. “For one, you never call me ‘Murdoc,’ and yet that’s all you’ve called me since I’ve arrived.”

            Cal sat the stuff in her arms in the chair. “Fine. Why was tonight completely awkward?”

            “It was awkward?”

            “Don’t play that, man, you’ve been throwing some seriously closed-off vibes.”

            “I’m tired. It was a long flight.”

            Cal gritted her teeth behind her pursed lips. Exhaling, she looked at him. _Don’t_ , she told herself. _Don’t make it complicated. Why shouldn’t he be tired – he’s come straight from another country_. She rolled her eyes. “I’m probably tired, too. Sorry.”

            He watched her for a moment, his expression even. Finally, the corner of his lip curled and he traced his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “You really do have a lot of freckles. It’s probably the sun that brings them out.” He retracted his hand. “Anyway … I really appreciate this. You know, feeding us and playing hostess.”

            She nodded. “Well, you played hostess. I figure it’s only fair.”

            He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m much more impressed.”

            “I don’t have any abandoned buildings nearby for us to blow steam off on because usually people squat in them, or we’ll get arrested.”

            “Hey, more memories for the books, right? I’m sure you look lovely in handcuffs.”

            “I’m more into softer restraints.”

            Murdoc looked at her, and her smile appeared. If the fire was still there, he was sure she would have seen the deepening hue in his cheeks, so he stood there thankful for the darkness. The muscles in his abdomen tightened. _Time to go_.

            “Sweet dreams, Niccals,” she said, and she gathered the trash from the chair.

            Murdoc watched her walk to the door, opening it with her hip. “Goodnight, Cal.” When the door closed, Murdoc proceeded through the gate, maneuvering around people, though not really present. The Jack Daniels weighed him down, his eyelids the heaviest as he carried on, heat rising from under the soles of his boots from the concrete. He hadn’t drunk a lot, but the buzz from the plane ride that was exaggerated by his trip to the liquor around the corner from the apartment while they all unpacked lingered into his reunion with Cal. He kept it quiet, though, as he wasn’t alone and the last thing he wanted was more bullshit from Noodle and Russel. Playing it safe, he remained quiet as he caught up to the others and they shared an Uber ride back to the apartment, 2D making commentary on every billboard and building they passed, Noodle indulging him while Russel snored against the backseat window.

            At the apartment, he hustled from the car to his room, avoiding all of the laughter from 2D and Noodle as they teased Russel about his snoring, where he tossed the bottle onto his bed and stripped off his jeans and his shirt. Taking the bottle by the neck, he moved around the foot of the bed to the window, drew open the curtain and pulled the single chair in the space to him, sitting back into it and propped his heels up on the window sill, crossing his feet at the ankles. Murdoc took a significant swallow from the bottle, the rushing of cars below filled the room like the humming of static, a cool sea breeze creeping up the length of his legs. Across the way was the side of another apartment building, his neighbor’s barred window closed and dark. He knew if he leaned out the window and looked to his left, he’d see a part of the Santa Monica pier, where the majority of the night’s noises came from. In the room next to him, the view was directly over the street with the pier in plain sight. 2D’s room. 2D was eager to have it when they first arrived, though backed off when Murdoc had walked into it first. Honestly, Murdoc walked into the first room he saw to get away from everyone, but when 2D followed him in and started going on about the view, Murdoc realized that the view would be wasted on him if he chose to stay. Plus, 2D chose the apartment because of the pier, so he knew what he had to do. Of course, Murdoc didn’t say any of this aloud, but rather cursed at 2D for running up on him and tainting the room with his annoying presence.

            “The light shines right in, bloody blinding, so you can have at it, wanker,” Murdoc had growled. “It’s annoying like you.” 2D hadn’t been disappointed by the decision. Murdoc could hear him now in the next room, pointing out things Murdoc couldn’t see to whom he believed was Russel.

            He sighed and took another drink, returning his gaze to the dark wall across the way. The thumb that had caressed Cal’s cheek slipped over the skin of his index finger in an absent rotation.

_Holy fuck, I’m here._

           Part of him wanted to text her, wanted to apologize for the distance both physically and vocally for the past three months, but he knew that no matter what he wanted it wasn’t actually going to happen. Locating his phone in a drunken state was like trying to find himself; the bloody thing was probably right in front of his face but he’d never find it. He didn’t want to text Cal drunk, and he didn’t want to say something that would suggest anything of permanence to her for fear that she’d read into it, which seemed stupid now because three months ago, he never expected to see her again, and yet he was literally a short drive away from her currently. It was overwhelming and freaked him out on a level he hadn’t realized existed within him. Suddenly a girl who’d been a part of the background of a familiar place was the forefront of an unfamiliar place in which he’d been superimposed. She wasn’t Cal the tourist anymore on his turf, but rather he was the tourist on hers. He saw her in nothing but a hoodie, wet hair, no pants … trousers – _whatever_. It was all very frightening. Very real.

           He took another drink.

_What the fuck does it matter? She’s just a girl …_

_… a girl with the most intriguing mind. And a nice arse._

           Murdoc gritted his teeth, strangling the Jack Daniels bottle within his palm. He brought it up to his mouth and let the liquid run down his throat. A knock on the door threw off his concentration, causing him to choke suddenly, and he nearly fell off the chair.

           “Can I come in?” came the quiet voice from the cracked door which instantly made Murdoc rush to grab his pants.

           “ _Just a sec!_ ” Shoving his legs into the jeans and careful when zipping up his zipper, Murdoc leaned against the bed, out of breath. “Right, have at it.”

           Noodle slipped in and gently shut the door behind her. She waited before finally looking at him, and then crossed the room to the other side of his bed. “The lights are off. Is it safe to sit?”

           Murdoc rolled his eyes. “Probably the best and only time.”

           Noodle hopped on the bed and sat cross-legged. She was already in her pajamas, a pair of boxers with cats playing with balls of yarn on them and an old band tee – a Blizzard of Oz tour shirt. He also noticed her polka-dotted knee-high socks.       

           Murdoc laughed. “Holy fuck. Haven’t seen that shirt in years.”

           Noodle looked down at it.

           “Yeah.” He sat on the edge of the bed facing her. “Saw ’im at King’s Hall. Had to been around thirteen or fourteen at the time. Snuck out. Great fucking show.”

           Noodle watched as he went somewhere far away in his mind, the tiniest hint of a smile crossing his face. She patted the space next to her, but Murdoc moved only slightly towards her. “You seem tired.”

           “Long flight, love.”

           “I know. I was on it.”

           “Well, I know you aren’t here for small talk, Noodle, so out with it.” He sighed and laid back on the pillows, stretching himself down the length to the bed, his hands behind his head. “What’ve I done this time?”

           She laid back, maintaining the space between them, and rested her head on her hands as well. They both stared up at the ceiling. “Did Cal really find rubble in Stoke?”

           “I took her to an abandoned hotel near The Pig. We got bloody drunk and knocked in some walls. Harmless, really. Just needed to release some tension.”

           “Her or you?”

           “Both, I suppose.”

           “Are you happy we came here?”

           “It’s a nice change of pace. A lot more topless tossers than I’m used to.”

           “It’s the beach, Muds.”

           “Still.”

           “And Cal, are you happy to see her?”

           Murdoc paused. “That’s a silly question.”

           “I get a good feeling about her.”

           “You barely know her.”

           “And yet here we are.” She turned on her side, propping her head up on her hand.

           Murdoc turned his head and looked at her. “2D picked this place. I’m just along for the ride.”

           “You know, an old grumpy green man once told me that life doesn’t take kindly to passengers. That not knowing how to drive is a sign of weakness because it keeps me at the mercy of reckless drivers. While I can’t say I’ve come to completely agree with that piece of wisdom in its entirety, I think I know why he told me that. Most of the time we have a choice, and sometimes we don’t. But I think in those moments when we have that choice, driving is the best option – not because of the fear of being weak, but for the opportunity to explore and to be moved by the world around us. By the worlds we can pass through. I’ve seen a lot on this journey, both as a passenger and driver, and it’s been such a fun time because I allow it to be.”

           Murdoc turned his head back towards the ceiling, but Noodle took his chin and turned it back towards her.

           “I’m not finished, old grumpy green man. I don’t know if you’re meant to be the driver right now or the passenger, but I ask that you make a choice one way or the other, not for me, but for you. You can let life navigate and choose to enjoy the ride, or you can navigate and choose to enjoy the ride. Either way, enjoy the fucking ride. That’s the choice you always have.” She released his face and sat up. “I’m going to 2D’s room. Apparently there’s gonna be a fireworks display in a few, from what he saw on Twitter. Come join us.”

           “No thank you,” he said quietly, and returned his stare to the ceiling.

           “Then enjoy the darkness, Murdoc.” Noodle got up and silently padded to the door, opened it and slipped out.

           Murdoc laid there in the quiet, the honking and treading of cars slowly creeping in. His lower lip quivered and he quickly closed his eyes, rubbing at them with hand before sitting up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached down to grab the bottle of Jack Daniels. There was only a swallow left. Tossing the cap off into the corner of the room, he finished the bottle and dropped it onto the carpet. Outside the window, a distinct popping noise caught his attention, a flash of red light coloring the darkened wall across the way. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Murdoc turned and walked to the door, moving silently into the hallway. He heard 2D gasp and peered into the room. Noodle and 2D leaned outside the window, highlighted in blue and gold as more fireworks went off. Russel leaned against the wall on his arm on 2D’s other side, watching over their heads. Murdoc crossed his arms and rested his shoulder against the doorframe, more for support than leisure. There was a whirl-wind raging within him and he was certain his feet wouldn’t stay on the ground much longer. The outlines of the group started to tremble, blurring together where they touched, the flash of color from the fireworks giving them a strange 3-D effect. Murdoc rubbed his eyes and returned his gaze, catching Russel staring at him. His lips were a line across his darkened face. He returned his gaze outside and rested a hand on 2D’s shoulder.

           Murdoc’s upper lip twitched, his teeth coming together as he stared at them, finally backing out of the room.

           With this movement, Noodle glanced back at the door, but there was no one there. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked the update. As always, feedback/questions/concerns/corrections for the thousands of dollars I've spent on Spanish courses I tried to throw in here (one day I'll make my brown roots proud!) are welcome. 
> 
> Chapter Five Playlist:  
> "The Curse (Berlin Live Session)" - Agnes Obel  
> "Keeping Me Alive" - Bob Moses  
> "Tomorrow Comes Today" - Gorillaz


	6. Chapter 6

           Murdoc’s door opened with a thunderous rush and he shot up, his chest heaving as though trying to push an elephant off it. He barely had time to do anything more before 2D appeared, standing proudly within the doorframe, his hands latched to his hips. Through a groggy haze, Murdoc saw the younger man wearing a lime green Speedo and a pair of swimming goggles on his forehead.

           “It’s time to get up for reals now, Muds, we don’t want to be late!”

           “ _Have you any idea what time in the fucking morning it is, you blimey twat?_ ” roared Murdoc, his head throbbing with every syllable. He seized his pillow and launched it across the room, 2D stepping gracefully out of its path, the grin etched into his face.

           “Morning? It’s noon, Muds,” called Noodle from the other room. “Now get your arse up and ready, we’re meeting Cal at the beach.”

           Grabbing his phone, Murdoc realized that Noodle was right. His stomach gurgled.

           “I tried waking you earlier to come with us to grab some proper swim attire, but you told me to sod off, so I let you sleep,” explained 2D as he made his way towards the bed. “But, I also know you don’t own anything ’aving to do with swimming so I took the liberty of getting you some board shorts and a pair of Speedos like mine, except in black cos that’s all you ever wear.”

           “I don’t want a fucking black Speedo!” seethed Murdoc, his nails digging into the sheets around him. “I’ll fucking drown you before matching you.”

           “Then opt for the board shorts cos I’d rather live today.”

           “I’m not wearing any of it.”

           "But Muds, you can’t go in the buff here, it’s illegal.”

           “ _I mean I’m not going swimming_.” The pain in his head sliced through his brain like a saw as he glowered at 2D. He caught sight of Noodle standing in the doorway looking less than impressed by his words as she observed him with raised eyebrows. “I mean … I’ll _go_ to the beach but … I’m not swimming.” He watched her relax, her lips curving before she turned and disappeared into the living room. Murdoc shot his murderous eyes back at 2D. “You look like an idiot in that thing.”

           2D looked down his front. “I think it accentuates all the right areas, actually. Although, I was bummed cos I gained some weight. I’m now a youth extra-large.”

           Murdoc smacked his forehead with his palm and laid back on the bed. “Just gimme a moment to wake up, Faceache. I’m bloody hungover.”

           “I’ll make you some tea.”

           2D left the room and Murdoc rested his arms over his face, his body uneasy and intertwined in the sheets.

           “I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he muttered, mustering all his energy into untangling his naked form from the bed, and dragged himself to his suitcase. Hunched over, he sifted through his clothing. “Oy, shitheads – what’s the weather here in bright and shiny Southern California?”

           “Step your ass outside and find out,” came Russel’s morning greeting.

           “27 degrees,” called Noodle. “You should probably wear something light, Muds.”

           “Light, _bah_.” Murdoc grabbed his jeans from last night and a black undershirt, and clumsily dressed. As he walked to the door, he found a pair of boots by the foot of the bed and shoved his wallet into his back pocket. In the living room, Noodle and Russel sat in their beach attire on their phones while 2D brought Murdoc a cup of tea.

           “You sure you don’t want the boardshorts, Muds?”

           Murdoc latched a finger around the mug’s handle and pulled it away from 2D. “I’m not putting a toe in the water.”

           “Let him enjoy sand in his crack, D,” said Russel, a dark smirk overcoming his face as he looked up at Murdoc.

           “You look like a hot air balloon,” snapped Murdoc as he sipped the tea.

           Russel glared at him. “Don’t hate cuz I’m proud of who I am. The red and orange stripes on my tank top bring out the beautiful brown hue of my skin, Muds. You look like a background zombie in _Thriller_.”

           “Good, I’ll be dead soon and won’t have to endure any more of this nonsense.” Murdoc threw back the boiling tea, enduring the fresh pain down his esophagus as it muted the sawing in his head, and harshly set the mug on the kitchen counter. “Did you lot already eat?” he grumbled.

           “Cal’s bringing food,” replied Noodle, locking her phone and standing from the couch. “Picnic-type things.” She placed a hand on a cooler, which sat on the couch cushion next to her. “We bought some things, too, including drinks.”

           Murdoc’s face lit up.

           “ _Not_ booze. 2D wanted orange juice and iced tea, and I also packed some water.”

           “You’re trying to depress me, aren’t you?”

           “It’s illegal on the beach, Muds,” replied 2D as he pulled a tank top with a similar pattern to Russel’s on it and some khaki shorts.

           “Venice Beach is hell,” Murdoc muttered.

           “I’m sure if you _must_ have a drink Cal will know how to sneak it,” Noodle remarked, visibly irritated, “but for now, grab the cooler so we can meet the Lyft guy downstairs. He’s been waiting.”

           When they reached the strand, the four of them headed straight to Cal’s studio, Murdoc trudging behind as he carried the cooler with shaky hands.

           “She says the key’s hidden in a rock next to the door,” said 2D to Noodle as they made it to Cal’s gate.

           “What’re you on about?” questioned Murdoc as he watched Noodle pick up a fake rock and slide open a compartment. A brass key fell out into her palm.

           “Cal told us to put anything we didn’t want to bring to the beach in her house so we don’t have to carry it,” explained 2D as they walked inside.

           “Well where the bloody hell is she?”

           “Saving our spot on the sand.”

           “You asked to go into her flat?”

           “Of course not. She told me to.” 2D stripped off his tank top while Noodle did the same.

           “Why would she tell _you_ that?” Murdoc dropped the cooler to the floor, his body growing warm and his jaw tight.

           2D shrugged. “Guess cos we’ve been chatting all morning.”

           Noodle turned to them both, standing in her boardshorts and bikini top. “Cal coordinated this with 2D like what was discussed last night.” Her tone was even as she watched Murdoc. “She was just relaying the plan through him to us.”

           Murdoc couldn’t help the tension that coursed through him. He forced a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I was just asking.”

           “Sure you were,” scoffed Russel as he draped his towel around his neck and placed a pair of Aviators on his face. He carried a massive bottle of suntan lotion in one hand and a grocery bag of chips in the other. “Can we please get a move on? There’s a lot of sun to be had, and I need some serious meditation time.”

           “Had me some meditation time last night. It was bliss,” chuckled Murdoc darkly, and Russel sighed, shaking his head as he pushed past him towards the door. 2D plugged his ears and trailed after Russel as Noodle socked Murdoc in the shoulder.

           “Boundaries, Muds,” she grimaced, passing him.

           “Fuck, it was a joke.” Murdoc rubbed his arm and shut the door behind him as they stepped out of Cal’s house. Murdoc watched the group ahead of him excitedly cross the strand onto the sand, each of them removing their sandals. 2D gasped and raced forward, obviously burning his feet. Murdoc chuckled to himself and carefully made his way, his boots sinking with every step. The horizon was a glossy blue and the beach itself was packed with people. Children raced past Murdoc and he growled as they kicked up sand around him. He was about to curse out a group of teens rushing around him to grab an American football when he caught sight of Cal ahead of them. She stood amongst a couple of beach blankets and some outdoor chairs, a black wide-brimmed hat on her head. Her hair was braided, hanging down over her bare shoulder, and she wore a black halter-style bikini top on her chest. Her legs – _those legs_ – freefell in identical curves from a pair of black bikini bottoms that clung to her hips. Her eyes were covered by large circular sunglasses. And then most of her was covered as 2D embraced her, and the sudden muting of the pain throughout his body ceased, reminding him that he was still very hungover and now considerably irritable.

           Cal greeted Noodle and Russel as they dropped their beach necessities on the blankets. “Good to see you guys!”

           “Would you look at that!” 2D stopped next to Cal’s long board and inspected it, impressed.

           “I figured you could give it a go if you wanted. Might still be a little short for you, D. You’re a fucking tree.”

           “Do you think I could handle it?” Noodle asked.

           “Totally!” Cal turned as Murdoc stopped at the edge of the blankets, his hands in his pockets. “If it isn’t my favorite ray of sunshine.”

           “I’m fucking in pain and in no mood, love.”

           Cal smirked. “So I’ve heard. Cool your heels, old man, I brought you some medication.”

           2D turned. “Cal, what’s the best way to tackle the water?”

           Cal looked at him over her shoulder as she rummaged through her cooler. “My advice: don’t think, don’t stop, and mind the in-shore holes. It’s still the beginning of July and the southern currents are still coming up.”

           “And sea life – there wouldn’t be any whales about?”

           Cal cocked an eyebrow at a now visibly nervous 2D. “Whales, no. But we get jellyfish every now and again.”

           2D nodded, the smile overcoming his face again. He turned to Noodle. “Race ya!”

           Noodle pushed him aside and bolted towards the water, 2D catching his balance before running after her.

           “I’m gonna go for a quick dip,” announced Russel. “I read that salt is good for the skin.”

           “And hair,” added Cal, realizing this wouldn’t help Russel. “Well, the scalp, too.”

           Russel gave her a chuckle and headed towards the water.

           Murdoc collapsed into a beach chair, sprawling his legs out along the blanket in front of him. He watched the group in the waves, 2D and Noodle pushing each other while simultaneously trying not to fall in, shivering with each wave that rushed past their waists. With dainty care, Russel touched the white water with the bottom of his foot, testing out the temperature. Shrugging, he moved with ease past a fighting 2D and Noodle and dove under a wave, disappearing for a moment. Automatically, Murdoc’s lip curled.

           “Is that a smirk I see?” teased Cal as she sat in the chair next to him and handed him a blue Solo cup. She held her own in her other hand.

           Murdoc looked in the cup. Amber liquid. “Oh my – you didn’t.”

           “I did. I stopped by the liquor store earlier and grabbed you some shitty whiskey. Just keep it in the cup, okay?”

           “Smashing.” The whiskey was heaven as it glided over his tongue. It was smooth and awoken his taste buds. “What ’ave you there?”

           “Corona,” replied Cal. “I’m glad you came, Niccals. Can’t tempt you to go for a swim, though, huh?”

           Murdoc shook his head. “I’m the official stuff watcher. Have at it, love.”

           “Do you even know how to?”

           “I’ve been thrown into water before, mostly against my will. Haven’t died yet, I’m afraid.”

           Cal laughed. “I think my goal on this trip is to find activities you’ll willingly participate in.”

           “You already ’ave.” He held up the cup to her. “Besides, I’m good at people watching. Judging. That sorta thing.”

           “There’s plenty of babes out.”

           “Lots of skin, yeah.” He looked at her. “You’re basically naked.”

           “You said you wanted the full Monty, Niccals.”

           “Yeah, but that’s not it.” He smirked. “Not that I don’t like what I see.”

           Cal shook her head and looked away, unable to stifle the giggle that escaped her lips. “Look, I’m all for the rebellious aloof bassist look – it’s what caught my eye initially, Niccals. But you could learn to have a little fun, too, ya know. Show some skin.”

           “I’m all for being naked, I really am, but I’ve already been warned about the law here, and I don’t want the attention right now. I’d hate to have to deal with all the girls and their jealous boy toys, and the fights sure to break out over my illustrious being. All that mess. Plus, there’s skin cancer. I’m bound to inherit a plethora of diseases and cancers, but cancer of the skin isn’t one I want. I prefer the ones that include fun ways to get them, if you know what I mean.”

           Cal burst out laughing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

           Murdoc offered her a proud smile.

           “Well, if I can’t get you to act like a normal person and take your shirt off like you want to be here, maybe I can get you to help me with the lotion.”

           Murdoc eyed her. “Lotion?”

           “I need to reapply.” Cal got up and downed the last of the beer in her cup, placed it in the cooler and grabbed her bottle of sunblock. “I, too, don’t want skin cancer.” She held out the bottle to him.

           Staring up at her blankly, Murdoc took it, and Cal turned and sat down before him on her knees.

           “If you could just do my back and my shoulders, I can get the rest. I need it to dry before I take the board out.” She pushed her braid over the front of her shoulder so that it was out of his way.

           Murdoc stared at her back. Her skin was golden and freckles lined the tops of her shoulders, dotting sporadically down the length of her back. Her shoulder blades were defined and she had two distinct dimples on her lower back. All the pain from his hangover dissipated as his eyes moved up the length of her body to the back of the hat on her head. He cleared his throat and sat forward on the chair, popping open the bottle, and squeezed a glob of the white lotion into his palm.

_Albert was right, she_ is _a she-devil._      

           “Oh, wait.” She reached around her neck and untied the knot of the halter, exposing the back of her neck and she held the rest of the bikini top up with her hands.

_Sweet fucking Satan_. Murdoc coughed and plunged two fingers into the lotion in his palm. Gingerly, he placed it between her shoulder blades and circled it in a tight motion.

           “Really, Niccals? That’s gonna take all day.”

           “How would you ’ave me do it then?” he snapped.

           “Put the lotion on yours hands and rub them over the entirety of my back. It’s really simple, Buffalo Bill.”

           “There’s a joke in there about a hose.”

           “Is this too hard for you?”

           “Fuck, woman, lemme work ’ere.” He smashed the glob of sunscreen between his hands and, with care, placed them on her shoulders. He smoothed the lotion over her skin, running his palms down her back. Her skin was smooth, like he remembered from The Pig. It was also warm and moist – probably from perspiration.

            Cal asked, “You really have never been to the beach, have you?” as she felt his hands move between her shoulder blades.

            “Not in America.”

            Cal realized she was leaning back against his hands and corrected her posture. His hands moved with knowledgeable intention, his fingers sweeping down her sides, pressing the tops of her hips, and then up again to the back of her neck. He used only one hand for this, and he clasped around the side of her neck with his fingers, his thumb running up her cervical vertebrae with more force, almost as if he was massaging her … gripping her. Beneath her top, her nipples hardened as electricity coursed through her from the pressure of his fingertips.

            “I think that’s it,” Murdoc said finally, and he rubbed his palms on his pants. “Let me have the tie-thingies of your top.” Cal lifted them and Murdoc secured the top of the halter in place. When she turned around to take the lotion bottle from him, he noticed the hint of pink in her cheeks. Inwardly, he grinned. He watched her apply the lotion to her chest and stomach, over her arms and down the length of her legs. She removed her sunglasses and rubbed some onto her face, her brown eyes bright under the sunshine. Removing her hat, she passed it to Murdoc, and then gazed down at him.

            “Is it all rubbed in?”

            “It is. You look like a freckled sand queen, ready to take dominion over the fish.”

            “The shit that comes out of your mouth, Niccals.” Cal grabbed her board and held it against her hip. “Make me a promise.”

            “Depends, love. If it involves sunscreen again, it’s a definite yes.”

            “Good, because it does. Promise me you’ll come out at least once while you’re here. I won’t let you drown.”

            Murdoc’s smile dropped.

            “It’s just another experience, Niccals,” she insisted. “Something to add to the books.”

            He sighed. “At some point … yes, Cal. I promise.”

            She beamed, and Murdoc caught the curve of her lips as she did so. “I’ll be in the water.”

            “Try not to drown 2D – not because it’s him. I just need his voice.”

            Cal rolled her eyes and headed down the beach, leaving Murdoc to sit back in the chair. He exhaled, his body relaxing as she moved farther away. His spiny fingers released the choke-hold they had on the armrests, and he extended his legs out again. He watched her walk all the way down the berm, the outward curve of her waist that held the board steady between her strong arms. He placed the hat over his lap, realizing he should have done that as soon as she’d given it to him. _There’s no way she meant anything by any of it_ , he assured himself, watching her jump back as a wave rushed up her legs. 2D and Noodle swam towards her, Russel resting on his back as he floated far enough out that the waves didn’t pound over him.

            But despite his silent assurance, Murdoc couldn’t help but notice how quickly 2D hopped onto the surfboard, Cal placing an arm across his back as she helped guide him over a small wave, her elbow close to his lime green backside.

            _Stop it, you bloody fool._

            As his headache resurfaced, Murdoc decided it best to pour himself another cup of whiskey and try to catch some sleep while everyone was out in the water. Settling back into the chair with a refilled cup, Murdoc closed his eyes and rested his head back against the top of the beach chair.

            It felt like seconds before his eyes popped open again, the rain pouring over his head. He jerked up, spilling his cup and realized he was still on the beach, not shivering through a misty night in Stoke, his body uncomfortably warm as Noodle stood wringing out her hair over him.

            “Rise and shine, Rōjin!” she teased, and walked around him to where Russel was sprawled out on one of the blankets on his stomach, his tank top gone, snoring peacefully. Noodle laid on his back, but he barely noticed, turning his head in the other direction. Before Murdoc could wipe the saltwater from his face, another shadow overcame him and Cal was suddenly in his lap, her back curved along his front as she wriggled her soaked self against him.

            “You look like you needed a dip, Niccals,” she laughed over her shoulder at him. She scooted down between his legs, using his thighs as arm rests, and grabbed a bag of chips. “How was your nap?”

            “Bloody fantastic,” he muttered, his arms out as the dampened fabric of his tee clung to his torso.

            2D laid out in the sand in front of them, burying his appendages. “This is _so_ lovely.”

            “You’re still alive?”

            “Sure am, Muds, Cal’s a great lifeguard.”

            “Yeah, he nearly died like fifty times,” added Noodle.

            “He caught a wave though!” Cal mentioned, popping a chip into her mouth.

            “It was more like watching a toddler take its first steps on top of a human-sized game of Jenga where there’s only one block holding the tower up,” Noodle explained as she hopped off Russel, grabbed a sandwich from the cooler and sat down in the chair next to Murdoc. “But yeah, as Cal would say, it was pretty rad.”

            Murdoc pulled the shirt over his head and laid it out on the arm of his chair. “And you, Noodle, how’d you do?”

            2D picked his head up, his entire body beneath a mound of sand. “She was brilliant, Muds. She only wiped out twice.”

            Noodle beamed proudly.

            Murdoc nodded. “Exquisite.”

            “You really need to try it, Muds,” said Noodle.

            “Don’t worry, he already promised to come out at least once.” Cal tilted her back at him and winked.

            “To _swim_ ,” he added.

            “It’s exhilarating, Muds, like flying.”

            “You’ve never done anything related to flying outside of a plane, 2D, unless you mean when you’ve flown over the top of your speed bike.”

            “That’s exactly what I mean.”

            “When you guys are ready, we’ll clean up at the house and walk over to Letí’s.” Cal rolled up the top of the bag of chips and stood, grabbing her towel. She wrapped it around her and sat on the edge of the blanket near 2D, facing Murdoc and Noodle.

            “Do you think we’ll need to shower at all?” Noodle inquired.

            “Nah, it’s real low-key there.” Cal glanced over at 2D, only his grinning face exposed, the rest of him buried entirely. “Well, maybe 2D should shower.”

* * *

           They headed back to Cal’s after waking Russel, who sat up with a smile on his face, well-rested and happy that they weren’t needing to rush to a gig or rehearsal. That wasn’t the only reason, of course, but he didn’t explain himself to them. Instead, he changed into a nice floral button-down shirt and a pair of baggy khakis, much like 2D’s, and his flip-flops.

            While Noodle and Cal dressed in the bathroom, 2D slipped off his Speedos and threw on his shorts and a button-down, leaving the front open, and hung his damp swim shorts outside.

            “What other ridiculous clothing did you bring, 2D? My shirt’s still damp,” said Murdoc.

            2D beamed. “I thought you’d never ask.” He pulled a few button-downs out of the bag, laying each one out across Cal’s bed. “Take your pick.”

            Before Murdoc was a Hawaiian-print shirt with colorful Birds of Paradise in purple, orange and turquoise; a baby blue shirt with tiny pink flamingoes sewn into it; and a plain lime green shirt.

            “What the fuck is up with all this lime green?” Murdoc shot 2D a look, and 2D shrugged.

            “It’s attractive.”

            “They’re all horrible.”

            “I’m digging the Hawaiian-print,” said Cal, now standing on the other side of the bed. Noodle joined her and inspected the shirts.

            “Definitely the Hawaiian.” She gave Murdoc a smile and returned to brushing out her hair.

            Murdoc sighed and grabbed the shirt, pulled his damp one off and put the dry one on.

            “Come on, all,” ushered Russel as he placed a khaki fedora on his head. “Let’s not keep Letí waiting.”

            They walked along the strand, Cal leading with 2D and Noodle at her sides, Murdoc and Russel following. Cal commented on some of the vendors that they passed, even said hi to Darren who gave her a dirty look at first, but then realized she had people with her.

            “What up, _¿_ mamacita _?_ ” he greeted, stopping in front of her. “Can I interest _your friends_ in a good time?”

            Cal crossed her arms over her chest. “Guys, this is Darren the Drug Guy. Is anyone interested in weed?” she plainly inquired.

            Both Noodle and Russel shook their heads, while 2D thought about it for a moment.

            “Nah, sorry mate. I can’t cheat on Phil. We don’t see each other often but he’s always been there when I’ve needed him.”

            “Fair enough,” replied Darren, and he then looked to Murdoc. Murdoc glared at him under his dark bangs, the attitude of his face contrasting with the brightness of his shirt. Darren smiled nervously. “Anything for you, my man?”

“I hardly believe you’re carrying anything that constitutes a good time, boy.”

            Cal locked her arm with Murdoc’s and patted the exposed part of his chest within the opened hem of his shirt. “Whoa now. Let’s get you some nourishment.” She glanced back at Darren. “Better luck next time, Darren.”

            “Yeah, no worries, Cal.” He backed away as the group continued, Cal directing them to a small hut-looking storefront that was decorated with blue and green bamboo stalks, and grass that hung down over the slanted roof. Tiki torches set the front ablaze, casting a warm glow over the tall tables and high bar stools that were positioned alongside two wide, opened windows which showcased the inside of the bar, where patrons drank and talked as loud music poured out onto the strand. Between these windows were glass double-doors, La fénix spelled out in hot pink neon lights over them.

            “This is it,” announced Cal as she watched 2D’s mouth open fall open. “Let’s head in.”

            Russel headed in first, holding the door for Noodle and 2D to follow. Murdoc allowed Cal to pass through before him, though she still held the inside of his arm. He kept his hands in his pockets, though bent his arm out so that she could hang onto him easier.

            Inside, salsa music pulsed through the speakers and a few couples danced together on the dancefloor in front of the empty stage, though the stage lights moved and flashed colors across the floor. People drank along the wide wooden bar and at the tables, laughing and conversing over the music as the group walked towards the center of the room. Letí emerged from behind the bar, carrying a tray of drinks over her shoulder.

            “There she is,” said Russel, and he straightened his collar and led the group towards her.

            She wore a snug white tee shirt and high-waisted jean shorts, the ends frayed around the tops of her thighs. The top-right side of her hair was braided to her scalp, the rest loose, and she wore large gold hoops in her ears that matched the many bangles that adorned her wrists. After passing out the drinks from her tray, she caught sight of the group and waved with excitement, passing the tray off to one of her servers before heading over.

            “Hey all!” She stopped before Russel and gave him a kiss on the cheek, Russel immediately stiffening. Then, she did the same to the rest of the group. “I saved you guys a booth near the dancefloor.” She pointed across the room. “Babe, mind taking them that way? I’ll grab some menus.”

            Cal nodded and led them across the room, dodging people, tables and other servers. Noodle and Russel slid into the booth on one side, 2D and Murdoc on the other. Cal took a chair at the end of the table near Murdoc and saved the other next to Russel for Letí. When Letí returned, she set menus in front of them all and collapsed into the empty seat.

            “Busy?” joked Cal, and Letí nodded.

            “Girl, ever since I started these Latin Nights it’s been a mess – a good one. No band tonight, though. The congero is sick.”

            “Letí, this place is amazing!” exclaimed 2D.

            “It sure is,” added Russel. “Has a lotta personality.”

            “Like me,” remarked Letí, offering Russel a wink. She motioned one of her servers over. “Is everyone drinking tonight?”

            They all nodded, and Russel asked, “What’s your house special?”

            Letí turned to the server. “Baby, get us each a Cuba Libra, por favor.” She gave the table a grin. “You guys are gonna love it, it’s a local favorite back home.”

            “Where’s back home?” inquired Russel.

            “The Dominican Republic.”

            Russel nodded, impressed. “I’m from New York.”

            “I get those east coast vibes from you, Russel,” observed Letí. “Where are the rest of you from? Britain, right?”

            “England, specifically,” replied Murdoc as the server returned with their drinks.

            “And you’re in a band?” continued Letí as she passed around each Cuba Libra.

            “Yeah, 2D sings, Noodle here plays guitar, the jackass across from me plays bass, and I play drums.” Russel twirled the straw in his drink and then took a long sip. “Wow, Letí, this is delicious.”

            “Gracías papí, I aim to please. Salud, all!” She raised her glass and everyone followed suit. “To new friends.” They clanked glasses and drank. “I serve food here, too, if you all are hungry.”

            Replied Russel, “I will definitely be perusing the menu.”

            2D slurped the last of his Cuba Libra and stated, “I want to dance!”

            “Can you dance merengue?” questioned Letí as the music pulsed behind them.

            “Absolutely not, but I’m terrific at copying.” 2D was confident in his response as he made Murdoc slide out of the booth. “I’m pretty decent with the Electric Slide now, actually.” He glanced around the table. “Does anyone want to join me?”

            Noodle shrugged and nodded. “I don’t know how either, but the music is still fun!”

            “That’s the spirit!” called Letí, and she stood. “I can show you guys a few moves if you want before I have to rush off again.” She looked down at Cal with a broad smile. “Any chance I can have some assistance, _¿_ chica _?_ ”

            Cal rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t keep up with you when it comes to your cultural finesse.”

            “But you sure know how to get low, though.” Letí nudged her with her elbow and laughed. “Don’t worry, someone’s gonna throw on some G-Eazy or some shit eventually. Let me get these guys out there for a bit.” She then looked at Murdoc, who was nearly done with his drink. “Don’t think I can get you out there, eh, viejito?”

            Murdoc looked up at her and shook his head. “My expertise limits me to plucking strings.”

            “Horseshit,” retorted Russel as he got up from the booth. “If anyone knows how to dance to music like this it’s Muds. He spent some time in Mexico – learned _a lot_ down south.” Russel’s lips curled darkly as he held out his elbow to Letí. “But that’s a story for another time. C’mon, Letí, I’d be honored to learn some moves from you.”

            Letí took his elbow with a shrug and motioned for the others to follow, throwing Cal a wink. Cal tapped her glass with her nails and finally looked up at Murdoc when they were both alone.

           “Well, it looks like we’re back at the beginning, Niccals.”

            “Right, except this place is a helluva improvement on the previous shithole.”

            “That’s true. The Pig will always hold a special place in my heart, though.”

            “No need to miss anything – I’m right here.”

            “I was talking about Roberto.”

            “Albert.”

            “Whatever.” They both chuckled and Cal took a drink. “So, what’s all this Mexico business?”

            “I thought the general consensus was that it’s a story better left for another time.”

            Cal narrowed her eyes at him with playful suspicion. “I feel like every time you dodge a question I should be worried because the answer is probably not good.”

            “Ignorance is bliss, babe.”

            “It’s also fucking annoying.”

            “I’d be annoyed, too, if I was ignorant.”

            “No you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t know you were.”

            “Touché.” He leaned forward, eying her with feisty intent. “Shall I get us a round?”

            Cal knew he wasn’t going to be straight with her in this moment. Giving up, she nodded. As he attempted to stand, she placed a firm hand over his, Murdoc immediately looking to her, confused. “One day you’re going to be a little more open, right?”

            Murdoc paused, suddenly fearful about disappointing her again. He nodded and retracted his hand, avoiding people in route for the bar. While the space was crowded and noisy, and not a place he’d drink at daily for those reasons, it did have charm. As he waited for Cal’s Corona and his glass of Glenlivet, Murdoc scanned over the neon flamingoes and palm trees that hung on the walls, the license plates and beach-related signs that warned of tsunamis, and the pictures – pictures he was sure were personal as he noticed Letí in a few of them. He’d never been in a bar where the owner had personal photos on the walls for strangers to view. And then he realized that many of these people were not strangers but locals, as tables conversed with other tables, joked with the servers and interacted with Letí as she worked with 2D on his dance moves, Russel and Noodle already able to get past stepping on each other’s feet. Behind the bar, he observed a Polaroid near the cash register of Letí and Cal, both younger in the photo, taken at the beach. They were laughing, each with an arm around the other. Cal’s hair was chopped short in an A-line cut, Letí’s in braids. They had to be in their late teens, probably.

            It was hard to find photos of himself so candid. Even when he smiled or laughed in promotional photos for the band, it was all staged. And at that age, he wouldn’t have been smiling at all, if photos of him then even existed.

            The bartender handed Murdoc the drinks with a kind smile, and he returned to the table. Cal thanked him and they each took a swallow in silence as he scanned the wall next to their booth, noting more photos from Letí’s collection.

            Murdoc sighed, inwardly chiding himself. _Don’t do it. You’re lucky she’s still sitting here with you and not out having a laugh with the others like a normal person should._ He glanced at Cal, taking in her presence as she held the Corona bottle to her lips. Her salty hair was twisted up into a bun again and her lips were painted a natural pink. She didn’t wear any other makeup. A couple of necklaces hung down her chest, falling into the open space of the unbuttoned collar of the loose striped button-down she wore, which was tucked into the top of her jean shorts. On her feet were a pair of sandals, and looked at him when she noticed he was staring at her.

            “What is it?” she asked, self-consciously taking the end of one of her necklaces between two fingers.

            “I was in jail in Mexico.” The words came suddenly and while he told himself to stop, he knew he shouldn’t. The muscles in his stomach tightened. “It was really stupid, actually. I, uh, kinda got caught using counterfeit checks.”

            Cal shook her head. “ _What?_ ” She couldn’t suppress the laugh that followed. “How the fuck did you even get there – and _counterfeit checks_? What the hell were you buying?”

            _You’re a fucking idiot._

            Murdoc sat back and exhaled slowly. “The band was in a bad place at the time. We’d … well, we’d moved out here to work out a movie deal.”

            Cal’s eyes widened.

            “I know, right? Fucking Hollywood. Anyway, we all kinda went our separate ways for a bit, and I was mess because everything was falling apart, so I decided to go away. Clear the old noggin, so to speak. Like you. Went to Tijuana and … well, let’s just say I got into some shit – being young and dumb, of course – and got caught with the checks. Bloody Mexican police threw me in jail, thirty-year sentence, actually, but I managed to … _alleviate_ them of my presence and went back to our studio in England.”

            Cal stared at him, her palms pressed into the table. “Okay, so, lemme see here – you guys had a movie deal out _here_ , obviously got fucked over, and you went to TJ to … be young and dumb.” Her eyebrows heightened on her forehead. “Goddamn, do I even wanna know?”

            _Don’t. Fucking. Do. It._

            “Bit of a … brothel situation, actually.”

            Cal closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. “ _You were giving counterfeit checks to prostitutes?!_ ”

            Murdoc’s eyes darted about and he leaned in towards her. “Bloody Christ, announce it to the whole goddamn room, will you?”

            “Murdoc!” Cal exclaimed, leaning in as well. “And I thought the whole threesome conversation was big.”

            “Look, I know this sounds bad – _it is bad_ , but, you wanted to know …”

            “Yes! Yes, I do want to know …”

            Murdoc crossed his arms, holding the Glenlivet against his bicep. He narrowed his eyes at her. “So you can give me some a lecture, too? It’s not one of my prouder moments, Cal, trust me.”

            “No, Niccals. You’re a grown-ass man,” she replied firmly. “Your past is your past … although, brothels _are_ your past, right?”

            “Of course,” he snapped.

            “You must be some kind of rock star, man. Mexican jails and brothels and … _counterfeit checks_.” She burst out laughing.

            He rolled his eyes. “Right, right, go on, get it out. See if I tell you anything ever again.”

            She shook her head, rueful, as she continued to chuckle, and she touched the top of his hand as it rested on his arm. “It’s just, when I think of counterfeit checks I think of old ladies at the grocery store … and how _no one_ uses checks anymore.” She paused, caught in a thought. “Are you full of brothel diseases, Niccals?”

            “ _Bah!_ You think I’m a sodding idiot? Of course I wore protection! I’ve always protected myself against everything: diseases, children, stupidity.”

            “Affection.” She bit her lip and pinched his cheek.

            “Come off it,” he muttered, shrugging away from her. “The only disease I caught was 2D. Bloody life sentence, that one.”

            “I don’t think they make creams for him, I’m afraid. Besides, he’s too adorable to get rid of.”

            Murdoc rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you two seem to get along quite well.” He hated himself for saying anything at all. He wanted to leave, to be anywhere but here.

            Cal stared him down. “We do get along well, Niccals. He’s a nice guy. Likeable and enthusiastic. Just like Noodle and Russel. They’re all great people.”

            “Then why aren’t you out with them?”

            “Because I’m having a nice time talking to you, even with your sulky attitude.”

            He eyed at her. “That makes no sense at all, Cal. You enjoy laughing and all of this. So does 2D. Why wouldn’t you be out there, laughing and dancing with ’im?”

            Cal turned to the group out on the dancefloor. Letí wasn’t there at the moment, but Noodle, 2D and Russel were all dancing their best merengue, the boys taking turns with Noodle before trying it out on each other. Cal smiled and then turned back to Murdoc.

            “Don’t worry about me, Niccals. I’ll be out there having a fun time with everyone. But I met you first, and fuck have you made it a mission to get to know you. I look at them and I know basically what I need to know. I’m sure there’s a lot of depth there, too, a lot of stories that’ll probably surprise me but … with you, it’s completely different. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, especially with the male species. You’re an elusive creature, Mr. Niccals. The very definition of the word. But, I think that only extends to me, not because I believe you’re an open book with them either, but you seem to really not want to let me in, and I have no idea why. Maybe I’m just dumb, spilling my guts to you when we first met. You probably think I am dumb, actually. The funny thing is, it didn’t feel dumb. In fact, it felt completely necessary, and that’s not like me. And I also think that if this was just some casual thing, you would’ve made your move and been gone already. But you didn’t. So I’m thinking that maybe you actually want to be my friend. Why else would you come here to for a vacation knowing I’m down the street from you?”

            Guilt pooled within him as he watched her. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all. You’re the opposite of it, Cal. If you were, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

            “So then why are you here? If I’m just like them, like 2D, why are you here with me?”

            Murdoc considered his words, wanting more than anything to shout how untrue her words were. He settled for the following: “Because … because of the shit you say. The truth you do speak. How absolutely not-dumb you are. You’re daft, yes, but not dumb.”

            Cal chuckled. “That means the same thing.”

            “Not in my book.” He cracked a smile at her as he watched the dimples in her cheeks appear. “You’re a very clever woman, Cal, one who braved the squalor of Stoke with grace and independence, and the most hilarious drunken antics I’ve been privileged to witness. You’re easy to talk to. You make me think. All that means something to me. It’s necessary that it remain for as long as it can.”

            Cal straightened up and stared at him, her expression growing serious as she ingested his every word. Finally, she nodded. “Sure, I could’ve been dancing and laughing out there with them but then I wouldn’t have gotten a response like that from you. I think I win here.”

            “I hope so,” he said honestly. “I’m not the easiest person to be around, Cal. I’d take no offense if you decided to walk away.”

            She swallowed the rest of her beer. “If you were easy to be around, this wouldn’t be as much fun.” Setting the glass down, Cal returned her gaze to him. She could see the words in his eyes but couldn’t read them. There was more he had to say but wouldn’t, she knew. Or maybe she was reading too much into his stare. Maybe Murdoc could be taken at face-value. It seemed unlikely though.

           She recalled their aggression on the skeleton of the motel in Stoke, how familiar Murdoc was with everything in the ruined space, how he handled the piece of wood like some retired major league baseball player – the look in his dark eyes as he smashed through glass remnants and through chunks of concrete in the remaining sections of the wall. She knew he was drunk; they both were. He wasn’t graceful by any means during that time, but the way he gritted his teeth as he found the strength to focus on his targets and the way the rain ran down the creases of his grimace as though he was not smashing through something random but some _thing_ – all of it captivated her.

           No, Murdoc Niccals could not be taken at face-value. He was not a shell at all. He was a fortress, an onion comprised of concrete layers that he had now given her the briefest of access to. He denied this verbally, his rough exterior controlling the truth that his sheltered self meant to convey to her, but those eyes of his couldn’t lie. They were not voids but tunnels, dark tunnels she knew others had probably gotten lost within before. Maybe he’d shut them down or maybe they’d given up. But Cal couldn’t do so that easily, no matter what he tried to tell her. She’d walked down lonely tunnels before. Her aunt kept much inside, even up until her death, but somehow she’d found trust in Cal with some of her more personal demons – at least that’s what Cal believed. And while she knew that the only person who could give trust and permission to his more intimate self was Murdoc, Cal wanted to try. She wasn’t sure yet why but she needed to. Whenever she was around Murdoc, the mystery he was drew her in. She’d already found herself writing little blips about him in her journal, crafting lines of poetry referencing his allure, had written his name down in pen once … even when she didn’t realize it was happening. She’d found him in certain pieces she’d started, and that was enough to compel her onward. That was enough to let her know that there was something significant here. Writing was everything to her, and if suddenly he was becoming the subject matter of that writing, then he was significant. She’d sort out the details later. For now, she’d enjoy the thrill of the ride.  

           “What are you thinking about?”

           His words propelled her back into the bar, the Spanish music rushing back into her ears, the taste of Corona lingering on her tongue.

           “I’ve frightened you away, haven’t I?”

           “Quite the opposite, actually,” she replied.

           “There must be something wrong with you.”

           “Probably.”

           “Then you’re my kind of people, Cal.” Murdoc set the empty Glenlivet glass down on the table. “I’ll grab us another round, love. Be back in a tic.”

           Cal nodded, seeing him leave in her peripheral vision. More than anything she wanted to write, but for now, she’d enjoy another drink with him.

* * *

            “You did it, didn’t you?”

           Cal stared at Letí curiously as she collapsed into a booth at the back of the bar. She threw an arm over her eyes. “Did what?”

           Letí tossed the wet rag in her into a bucket and hopped onto the bar top, Carlito mopping the bar space behind her. “You know what I mean, hoe. You fucked him.”

           “Fucked who?”

           “ _Murdoc_. That’s why you look como la muerte this morning. You fucked all night, didn’t you?”

           Cal sat up on her elbows and glared across the room at Letí, who laughed. “I didn’t fuck him.”

           “Yeah you did.”

           “ _No_ , I didn’t. When we all left, they went back to their apartment and I walked home.” She collapsed back into the booth. “Besides, we’re just friends.”

           “Just friends, huh?” Letí hopped off the bar and crossed the room, leaned on the table of Cal’s booth. “You sat here the entire night just chatting away. Didn’t even get up to dance with us or anything. Just laughed and did that stupid shoulder touching thing that friends do _all that time_.” Letí rolled her eyes. “Girl, he totally wants to fuck you.”

           “What makes you think that?”

           “Because you’re young and hot, girl. Older men want that, especially when they get that attention.”

           “I’m sure he can get that elsewhere.” Cal sat up again, remembering their conversation. “Dude, he told me they’d lived out here before because of a movie deal for their band.”

           Letí stood, giving Cal a skeptical look. “What band did you say they were in?”

           “I didn’t. I haven’t asked.”

            “And he hasn’t said?”

           Cal shook her head. “I kinda don’t want to know.”

           “Why?” Letí moved into the opposite side of the booth. “If they really are big, you could get all of the dirt you want on this dude, see what kind of trouble he is or isn't ... but probably is.”

           “That’s a box I’d prefer not to open.”

           "And a waste of time if he turns out to be total trash."

           "It just seems like ... cheating. If I'm going to get to know Murdoc, I want it to be organically. I didn't have a rap sheet for  _you_ when we became friends."

           Letí gave her a giant, sardonic grin. "I'm a saint, baby."

           Cal shook her head. “You and Russel seemed to dance a lot last night.”

           Letí shrugged. “I still got my groove, girl. Miguel didn’t fuck that over for me.” She and Cal both glanced down at Letí’s bare left hand. “I ain’t getting tied down again. I’ll have fun, but this empire I’ve built won’t be usurped by a penis.”

           “I really don’t think Russel’s into usurping anything,” Cal remarked, resting her head on her hand.

           “I don’t get those vibes either. So, if you and old man Murdoc didn’t bang, why’re you so tired?”

           “I was up most of the night writing,” Cal replied with a yawn. “I got on this flow, man, and rode that shit.”

           “For your novel?”

           “I’ve actually been working on some poetry.”  
           

            Letí nodded, impressed. “Haven’t heard you talk about poetry in a long time.”

           “I know, right? It’s really crept up on me. Ever since … well, England.” Letí’s lips slowly curled, and Cal immediately shook her head. “Calm your tits, woman.”

           Letí pointed to her chest with both index fingers. “These queens shall not be tamed, chica. And you’ve got some undealt with shit going on with your bassist amigo.” She stood, heading back towards the bar. “‘He’s just a friend,’” she mimicked. “Mierda, mamí. Lying is bad, especially to yourself.”

           Cal smirked, watching Letí grab the rag again. “Hey Letí, go be useful and clean something.”

           Letí flipped her off with her free hand. “Eh, ese, go diddle it to Grandpa Munster.” They both laughed, Cal flipping her off. “But seriously, if you two fuck, you better tell me. I need to know.”

           “Why, so you can diddle it to the dirty details?”

           “Fuck you, bitch. Totally not into that at all … doesn’t mean I ain’t curious, though.”

           Cal got up and stretched. “I’m out. I’ll pop by later, loca.”

           “Yeah, sure.” Letí watched Cal walk across the empty bar. “Hey.” Cal turned. “You know, hypothetically, if you were into him … I think that’d be okay.”

           Cal rolled her eyes. “Thanks mom, but it’s not gonna happen.”

           “Why do you say that?”

           “Because it won’t. He isn’t into me like that. We’re just friends.”

           “Sure, loca, sure. Keep lying. It’s gotten you this far already.”

           “Fiction and lying are two separate things, Letí.” Cal pushed open the entrance to La fénix, the bright light of the morning hitting her in the face. “The former is going to pay my rent.”

           “And mine!” Letí called after her as the door closed. She laughed at herself and continued cleaning the bar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I finally have Word again so here is the latest chapter. It's been ages, so I can't remember exactly what I listened to, but I did slip into a YouTube abyss of merengue and reggaeton, "Despacito" did play (LOL), and I edited this chapter while watching Jurassic Park - so John Williams was present, too, haha!
> 
> Next chapter is already written and will be edited soon. Thanks for reading and as always, feel free to hit me up with any feedback/concerns/questions/whatever you want to throw my way! Hope you enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

           Murdoc slept most of the day, not realizing he was alone until he finally dragged himself out of bed to use the restroom. In a haze, he meandered around the silent apartment, made himself some tea and collapsed onto the couch before noticing the note left for him on the coffee table. Picking it up and squinting to read it, he recognized Noodle’s bold penmanship:

_Rōjin –_

_Went out to a few museums. Figured you’d choose sleep over tarpits, so we left you alone. Try not to sleep all day. Maybe Cal is free? x_

            Murdoc tossed the note back onto the coffee table and yawned deeply. Blinking several times, he read the cable box: 4:37p.m. His stomach grumbled. Honestly, he didn’t want to move. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture he’d ever sprawled out on (he’d slept on much worse) but his body was content with his positioning. However, recalling Noodle’s note, Murdoc forced himself up and trudged back to his room, relishing the fact that for once he was alone in his own space. That was a hard thing to come by for any of them as of late, but for him, it was particularly special. He recalled the elation he felt as a youngster whenever his father and brother were both conveniently out at the same time, and Murdoc had free run of the house to do as he pleased without the harassment and reprimand from either of them. Sometimes he’d strut around naked for the hell of it, appreciating the freedom that came with solitude. Even though living with his bandmates didn’t compare to the emotional distress of being raised in a household in which his father and brother reigned over him with merciless aggression, Murdoc was thankful that for the time in which he didn’t have to get another excessively explained plotline of some stupid zombie flic if he accidentally asked what 2D was up to; or inhale the lingering fumes of formaldehyde from Russel’s taxidermy kits; or get scolded by Noodle when he unintentionally stepped on Katsu’s tail – not that any of them had brought those things with them.

           Regardless, those conversations he would have had with all three of them lingered. Even when they were away, he could still hear them clearly in his mind. It wasn’t terrible and it did help with the silence. After a while, the silence became too overwhelming and Murdoc would have to find a way to drown it out. Usually, it would be with his records or his bass. Sometimes he’d turn on the radio and work on a project that involved his hands; he enjoyed tinkering when he was frustrated musically. If none of that helped, Murdoc would read aloud from his collection of books and make commentary as he read. He tried to avoid this because he’d grow self-conscious about it after a while, snap the book shut and tell himself he was going mad. And yet, he was very well read because of it. He tried to remind himself about that to ease his self-consciousness.

            “You didn’t bring anything with you to read, you old wanker,” he commented aloud, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

           He knew who he could contact to kill the silence, but his thumbs hesitated. Murdoc wanted to see Cal again. The timing was perfect as it would be just the two of them to speak and do as they pleased without the influence of the band. Murdoc hoped on this trip that he’d have a chance at least once to invite her out somewhere, just the pair of them, to explore her city the way she saw fit, much like he had with her in Stoke.

_The two sorry things you took her to – Shakespeare and a sodding run-down building. Real meaningful, Niccals._

            Cal had a good time, though, he knew. She always had a good time. Even when he told her about his Mexican disaster, she was fine. The color overcame his face. He’d told her about that … _holy fuck._ Murdoc wasn’t sure if he was more ashamed over telling her or actually completing the acts, but either way, the conversation they’d had at Le fénix made him nervous about communicating with her. Sure, she’d laughed about it and said those surprising things to him about _choosing_ to sit with him over dancing with 2D and the group. She told him she was the opposite of frightened concerning him and that point in his past. How was that so? He was sure any other person would have given up on him over less. In fact, many had. And yet, Cal remained there, drinking with him, laughing with him, and talking shit with and at him for the remainder of the evening. She’d even linked her arm with his _again_ as they had all walked that inevitable distance towards the fork in their paths. It was hard to believe any of it was real.

            “But here you are in Venice Beach,” said Murdoc to the empty space. “It’s like a crappy piece of fiction – it can’t end well.”

            Murdoc stared at his phone screen. No new messages. He sighed. Perhaps it was better to stay in tonight, to enjoy the rare moment of being alone. He could try to find sleep again, maybe give that Netflix thing everyone talked about an attempt. Maybe think about the beach and how lovely it looked in that bikini … his stomach tightened. He recalled Cal handing him the sunscreen, making him slather it along her back. Her skin was so smooth, her muscles taut, her spine arched in a dangerous curve as she’d pressed against his hands. He saw that blush on her face when she’d turned around again, noted those tiny freckles along the lovely curves of her cheeks. His pulse quickened. Out of habit, Murdoc looked around. He was still very much alone.

            “Ah, what the hell,” he muttered, and laid back against the pillows. His erection was in plain sight behind his boxer briefs, and he was impressed. It had been a while since someone present in his life had awakened such a feeling within him, and the best part was he didn’t have to hit ‘Play’ to get a sense of excitement to find satisfaction – his hands remembered it all.

            _Ping._

            Groaning, Murdoc grabbed his phone. “If it’s 2D telling me about some stupid tarpit, I’m gonna punch him through the screen.”

            Said the message from Cal: ‘Are you alive?’

            Murdoc sat up, pulling the sheet over his lap as though she was standing right in front of him. ‘Barely. Was just about to have a wank.’ He sent a devil emoji and snickered, waiting patiently for an ‘ew, that’s disgusting’ response.

            ‘Nice. Send pics. When you’re done, come to the bar.’

            He reread the message a few times, amused over the fact he couldn’t decide if she was joking or not. The smile settled on his face. ‘Just me here – that ok?’

            ‘I’m texting you aren’t I?’ A devil emoji from her end came in. And then … a photo of her holding a mixed drink. Her eyes were squinted and her nose was crinkled, her smile lopsided purposely. On her frame was a familiar, worn jacket – _his_ leather jacket.

            Grinning, Murdoc glanced at the sheet. His erection was still present. ‘Be there shortly.’ He tossed the phone aside.

* * *

           La fénix was not as packed as it had been the previous night but it was still crowded when he entered the bar. While the festive décor remained, there wasn’t any Spanish music playing through the massive speakers on the stage. Instead, they blared a song from She Wants Revenge – _“Out of Control,” – that the bloody name?_ He couldn’t be sure. Like the change in music, the crowd was a bit different tonight, a little more clothed with an alternative flair. There was still a handful of people wearing their beach attire, blatant beach-bum locals, and the obvious tourists waving selfie sticks around. Despite the cluster, Murdoc spotted her immediately.

            She stood at the bar leaning over it on her tip-toes, laughing with one of the bartenders. She was in his leather jacket and black leggings that led into a pair of faded white high-top Chuck Taylor sneakers. On her head was a black fabric Panama hat, her hair falling down her back from under its circular brim. Murdoc adjusted the neckline of his black and grey striped shirt, feeling inadequately dressed. _This is how you always look, idiot. Fucking walk._ He moved forward, annoyed with himself. He was never like this. He never questioned what he wore. He didn’t _care_. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

            Cal clutched a small glass of what appeared to be cola, stirring it absently with a small black stirrer, but he knew better than to assume there wasn’t booze in it. Approaching her, Murdoc heard her laugh over the pulsating music. It was a funny laugh, not necessarily pleasant but it was honest. He liked her laugh. It made him feel like whatever she was laughing about was genuinely funny. As she continued her conversation, Murdoc leaned on the bar next to her, bumping her with his hip, and she turned to him with offense until she realized it was him.

            “You almost got socked, Niccals.”

            “Now you know how it feels,” he replied, remembering her gun prank outside The Pig.

            “Who’s this, Cal?” asked the bartender. She was a young woman with long blonde hair tied up into two buns on the top of her head.

            “This is Nicc – Murdoc.” She moved so that Murdoc could shake the girl’s hand. “Murdoc, this is Missy, one of Letí’s bartenders.”

            “Lucky for you to meet me,” said Murdoc, releasing Missy’s hand.

            “I absolutely agree,” Missy remarked, her smile puckish. “Oo, and you’re from England, huh?”

            “I am,” he replied, glancing at Cal. “Were you two just speaking about me?”

            Missy placed her hands on the bar, turning fully to him. “She mentioned she was meeting a friend, but I didn’t realize how gorgeous you’d be.”

            Murdoc chuckled. “I’m old enough to be your father, love.”

            “Funny, that’s what my dad told my stepmom before they got together.”

            Cal shook her head. “Jesus Christ, Missy, are you gonna show him your tits or get him a drink?”

            “Well, what do you prefer, Murdoc?” Her tongue ran over her unnaturally straight, white teeth.

            “While I always enjoy a great pair of tits, I think I’m gonna go with a pint, actually. I need to catch up.”

            Missy gave him a pout and turned around toward the beer tap.

            “And I’ll have some more Southern Comfort to sterilize my existence from what just transpired in front of me,” Cal called after her. She looked at Murdoc. “She totally wants you.”

            “Really? How _ever_ did you come to that?”

            Cal grabbed her breasts and pushed them up as she mocked Missy, running her tongue over her teeth. Murdoc laughed. “I don’t know, man, you may just get lucky on this little vacay of yours. Some of the local girls are real piranhas, especially with the tourist guys who come through already looking for a good time.”

            “I’m having a fine enough time without the pink lip gloss and glitter,” he remarked.

            Missy approached them again, handing Cal another SoCo and Coke, and then presented Murdoc his pint of beer. “It was _really_ nice to meet you, Murdoc. Let me know if you ever want to hang out.”

            “Right. Nice to meet you, too.” He turned to Cal. “Shall we find a spot to sit?”

            Cal nodded and patted the bar top in front of Missy. “Better luck next time.” Missy rolled her eyes and moved on to the next customer.

            They found table in the center of the bar and scooted onto the high stools, resting their drinks on bamboo coasters. A server stopped by and Murdoc ordered some finger foods.

            “Haven’t eaten all day,” he mentioned as the server left them, and he took a drink.

            “What have you been up to, Niccals?”

            “I slept. Feels like ages since I’ve slept so hard.”

            “You obviously needed it.” Cal suddenly perked up as “Enjoy the Silence” came on, and she happily bounced in her seat. “Fuck yeah!”

            Murdoc grinned. “Fate is with you tonight.” He glanced around. “What happened here, anyway? The Spanish music is gone.”

            “It’s Alternative Night, sometimes referred to as Cal’s Jukebox of Angst, as privately suggested by Letí.” She chuckled. “Letí breaks it up sometimes, though. She can only handle this kind of music in intervals before she throws a Spanish beat in.”

            “Is that why you called me down here, so I could better fit in?”

            “I called you down here because I wanted to make sure you were alive and well, and enjoying your time on the best coast.” She smirked and took a sip of her drink. “My company is just an added bonus.”

            He looked away from her, unable to get the stupid grin off his face. Casually, he continued, “How’s the writing going?”

            “Not bad, actually. I was telling Letí I’ve been working on some poetry.”

            “Poetry? That’s interesting.”

            “Yeah, I’ve had these creative bursts lately. It kinda feels like I’m taking pictures of things, not necessarily fleshing out a single massive canvas, if that makes any sense. I’m generally a long-winded writer but these poems feel right for what I’m trying to convey.”

            “And what are you trying to convey?”

            Cal thought about this for a moment. “Just some emotions, like honest emotion based on things I’ve been thinking about.”

            “Wow, Cal, could you be any more vague?”

            She laughed. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t think I can sell myself very well verbally. I’m not that eloquent.”

            “Then I suppose you’ll have to show me.”

            Cal raised her eyebrows. “You mean read one?”

            “As many as you’d allow, yes.”

            She bit her lip and turned away.

            “What is that? Bashful?”

            She narrowed her eyes at him.

            “You’re writing love poems, aren’t you? Probably to me, yeah.”

            “You’re an idiot,” she retorted and had a large swallow of her drink. Setting the glass down with a thud, she went on, “I’m trying to capture the organic happiness I’ve been feeling lately. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this alive.”

            “Well, what is it? Can’t you give me an example of what’s made you feel this way?”

            Cal shrugged. “The whole running away thing kind of gave me a new perspective on life. I feel like I came back recharged and ready to be productive, ya know? I had a lot of fun roaming around. I mean it was scary, too, but in the end it was fun.”

            “In the end … like, when you met a certain debonair stranger with fire in his eyes and a tongue like a bullwhip?”

            “Yes, exactly. I can’t believe I left him behind at The Pig.”

            “You know, I’m going to go back to The Pig to confess your love for Albert.”

            “And give him a heart attack. You’re an evil man.”

            “Quite, actually. But back to the poetry.”

            “Okay. I wrote a poem about the hotel. The release I experienced during that whole encounter. It was a very cathartic moment, one I’ve never had in that way, and one I’m very thankful for.”

            “Well, you’re welcome. Can you expand on that, though? Or shall I just read the poem?”

            “The poem’s not ready for anyone’s eyes but mine, homeboy. But on terms of that night, I’d say I learned that every now and again, there’s pleasure in things as simple as smashing rocks. Not to cause harm, of course, but to have a moment in which you feel completely empowered. I kind of argue with myself on whether that power is real or not. Either way it feels good. Especially having just dealt with my other book getting stripped of its dignity.”

            “Did you imagine you were there in that office?”

            “I didn’t imagine _them_ , per se, but I think I was trying to smash through their arrogance.” She paused. “I wanted to spread awareness about mental health – about what’s it’s like being on the inside and on the outside of the pain. The victim and the onlooker. We need more of that in our media. We need to see the harsh reality of the world to appreciate the beauty in all of it. How do we savor those moments of bliss if we don’t trudge through all the bullshit, too? I think that’s the general theme of the book, actually. Capturing the little bursts I’ve been fortunate enough to experience despite everything.” She shrugged and finished off her glass. “I don’t know if it’ll sell or whatever, but let me tell you, pulling these emotions outta me – like how we smashed that wood into the drywall – feels like having multiple orgasms. Except when you go back and read them, the tingling’s still there.” She paused. “Do you ever feel like that when you write music?”

            Murdoc nodded, his chin rested on his palm. “It’s a bit more aggressive for me, and it takes a lot of time, which can be extremely frustrating. We fight a lot, the band and I, because of the tension. But when the lyrics come together and you hear the playback and it’s everything you heard in your head and better, there’s definitely that sense of release. For me, it’s like physically pulling off a part of your soul and having it tangible in your palm to prod at. And you believe that whoever listens to it and understands what you meant by the lyrics can actually _feel_ how you feel. They can caress that bit of you in their hands, too. It’s this silent, mutual connection translated via the song. It’s why I make the music that I make, not just to have you dance or something to jog to. I want to speak to you in a language that’s not that simple. I want you to _feel_ something of substance. We can pop and twerk to our heart’s content but without substance we’re merely empty vessels with the belief we’re smashing dancers.”

            Cal watched his mouth as it moved, how it took care to formulate each word, and how those words illuminated his dark eyes. If anyone could understand what she meant when she talked about art, it was him. He wasn’t entirely there with her but on some other level, a parallel existence, caressing a piece of his soul she couldn’t see yet, as much as she wanted to. But she’d denied him access to her poetry and accepted that it wouldn’t be fair to expect to see something so intimate of his. Eventually, yes, she would find the confidence to ask, and the confidence to be so exposed to him. She had to. His words were comforting and felt so familiar …

            “How often do you say everything you’ve just said?”

            “Never.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “Because no one ever asks.”

            Cal nodded. “It’s a lonely thing, self-expression. Passion for art.”

            “It is.” He set his empty glass down and looked at her. “This would be a great time to get high.”

            Cal burst out laughing. “Guess Darren may be able to offer you a good time after all.”

            “Meh, too much effort to find ’im now.” He held up his empty glass. “Booze it is.”

            The server dropped off the appetizers and Murdoc ordered them another round of drinks, including a shot of Jameson each.

            “You know, to spice things up a notch,” he justified to both Cal and the server, though neither of them asked. Cal gave him a sour look, and he chuckled. “Come now, if you drink with me, you’re going to have to get used to the whiskey.”

            “I gave Stoke a pass because my options were limited, but this wasn’t in the fine print when I signed up for this, Niccals.”

            “You’ll have to look closer than that, babe.”

            “What other minute details should I expect?” asked Cal as she and Murdoc took their drinks and shots from the server. She held up the Jameson, examining the golden liquid.

            “Oh, the usual – mental anguish, continual recklessness and impulsive dirty jokes that’ll make your mum wish she was Van Gogh falling in love over and over again.”

            “My mom would never resort to that. She’d smack me with a chancla while making me write standards about how good behavior and manners make a decent wife.” When he didn’t contribute to her statement, she asked, “What about your mom?”

            Murdoc held up the shot. “Dunno. Never met the broad.” He nodded and they both took the shot, Cal silently regretting her question.

            “I’m sorry.” She set the glass aside and slid the SoCo and Coke in front of her.

            “Don’t be. You can’t miss what you never ’ad.”

            “Could still hurt though.”

            “That’s what this is for.” He held up his beer. “Numb the pain a bit, eh?”

            Cal wanted to contest this but chose not to. She took a drink instead. “What about your dad and your brother?” she continued, conflicted in her curiosity.

            “There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to black me out enough to forget those fuckers,” he remarked, maintaining his smirk. “But that isn’t how I want the evening to go, love. Let’s keep it light and fun.”

            “Honesty can be very fun.”

            “Fine, show me your poems and I’ll tell you about my dad and brother.”

            Cal pursed her lips.

            “Caught ya, didn’t I?”

            “You’re very clever, yes, Niccals.”

            “It’s both a gift and a curse.”

            “Which is it more of?”

            “Depends on who I’m with,” he replied.

            “Right now?”

            He thought for a moment, sipping his beer. “That’s a low blow, Cal. I’d probably say more of a curse with you.”

            “Because you don’t want to open up to me?”

            “It’s not that I don’t want to …”

            “Then what it is?”

            He set the beer down firmly and eyed her. “There’s a difference between wanting and know-how. Of course, I intend to share more with you. I don’t intentionally keep things from you to piss you off. I just don’t always know how to be open about myself. I ’aven’t ’ad a conversation like this in a very long time, Cal, if ever. Especially not with someone like you.”

            “Someone like me – like another artist?”

            “Like two people simply chatting because they genuinely care to know one another. I’m not used to … sitting across from a woman conversing because she means something. It’s usually a shallow transaction that leads to empty fucking before we never see each other again. I couldn’t even tell you the names of the last few women I’ve been with, and not only because it’s been a while.”

            “I can and it doesn’t make it any more meaningful.”

            “Oh, so you’re bi now?”

            “You know what I mean, asshole.” Gathering her confidence again, she asked, “Have you ever been married?”

            He shook his head. “Absolutely not. Never met anyone worth even the thought.”

            “So you’re just in to loose women?”

            “Yeah – what does that say about you?”

            “It says that if that sass continues, you’re gonna be in a world of pain, Niccals.”

            “Oh, now you’re _trying_ to turn me on, Cal. I enjoy a little pain with my pleasure.”

            “And I enjoy giving a little pain with my pleasure. I think it’s fate.”

            Murdoc hid behind his pint, considering how to proceed. She was hard to read, and his own words were leading him into a territory where he was being honest and funny simultaneously, and he didn’t know if she was following to add to his humor or actually leading him into an honest proposition. His body tensed at the thought and more than anything he wanted to laugh, to tell her how stupid it was that he, a man who’d had many sexual partners in his past, could feel so anxious over possibly being given another sexual invitation. He, who had fucked extras in their music videos, girls with backstage passes, girls who worked on sets for their interviews and other filmed material. Why suddenly was he anxious over whether or not _this_ girl was being serious?

_You just wanked a bit ago – the fuck is wrong?_

            He swallowed hard, suspicious that she was reading his thoughts.

            “I made it weird, didn’t I?”

            Murdoc shook his head. “Not at all.”

            “I did. I say shit like that and people look at me like I’m the devil.”

            “If you’re the devil, I’m inclined to worship you.”

            Cal brought the glass to her lips, heat climbing up the back of her neck.

            “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you in my jacket,” he continued, fixated on the flush of her cheeks. “It looks quite nice on you.”

            “Thanks. I think I’ll keep it so you’ll have an excuse to visit Venice.”

            “I don’t think I’ll need that jacket as an excuse.”

            They both quieted and sipped on their drinks as the end of a Mazzy Star song poured out from the speakers. On the dance floor, a few couples had gathered, caught in the current of sound waves. Both she and Murdoc watched them, each couple in their own space no one else could fit into.  

            “It’s funny, you’d never really see anything like that in a place like Stoke. A bar like this for that matter. No one there ever goes to the bar to drink socially.”   

            “Which completely goes against what a bar represents,” chuckled Cal. “Have you ever danced with any of your loose women?”

            “Absolutely not.”

            “What if a non-loose woman asked you to dance?”

            “I’d contest her invitation with fervent persuasion in favor of remaining at the table to drink.”

            Cal shook her head and stood, stepping in front of him.

            “What’s this?” he asked, straightening up.

            “I’m contesting your fervent persuasion in favor of remaining at the table to drink and asking you to have one dance with me.”

            “Oh fuck, is this like when women see babies and suddenly pester their partners about having one?”

            “Absolutely not. Dramatic much?” Cal placed her upturned hand in front of him on the table. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

            “You’re being serious?”

            “You’re being conservative.”

            “Conservative? That’s a first. There goes any hope of a potential erection, Cal, thanks.” He looked down at her hand. “I’ll only embarrass you.”

            “I’m not asking you to waltz, Niccals,.” She smirked. “I thought every English person has all that programmed into them out of the womb.”

            “The manufacturer missed my model, fortunately.”

            “I’m sure you know how to sway robotically from side to side.”

            That was it. He cracked up, unable to hold it in. He stood and took her hand, the other balled at his side, as he led her to the dance floor. Turning around, he placed his hands on her hips and they both slow danced to the steady rhythm from the speakers. Cal wrapped her hands around his neck, intertwining the ends of his hair between her fingers.

            “Isn’t this ridiculous?” She grinned up at him with arrogant satisfaction.

            “Absolutely,” he replied, unable to wipe the smirk from his face. “I seem to have met my match in terms of persuasion – or you’re a rather crafty con artist. I’ll go for the latter so I can claim victimhood. Maybe get some sympathy from it.”

            “You can’t always be the victim, Niccals.”

            “Bollocks.” He paused, glancing around. “Should I like … spin you or something?”

            “For once, let’s just follow the herd in this mundane social paradigm.”

            “Oh, and now with the dictionary chatter. Fuck, Cal, you must want to get in my knickers tonight, you’re making me all hot and bothered.”

            “You sure? Because I don’t feel anything.”

            Murdoc realized they were pressed against each other, his grip tight around her waist. He narrowed his eyes at her in contemplation. “Are you referring to your emotions, or to my dick?”

            Cal laughed. “Wow, I totally didn’t realize you could read that both ways.”

            “Well, come on then. What did you mean?”

            “I can’t necessarily feel your dick because of your jeans.”

            “And you … do you feel anything?”

            She licked her lips. “I feel warm. Tingly. Light. Happy.”

            “It’s probably the booze,” he suggested quietly, leaning in closer to her.

            “Probably. But not entirely.”

            It came out of nowhere and Cal nearly screamed, but the smack on her ass felt like she was being electrocuted. Both she and Murdoc jumped apart, Letí standing there with her hands on her hips.

            “Hey girl. Murdoc.”

            “Jesus fucking hell, Letí, you scared the shit outta me.” Cal rubbed her ass as she started to laugh, holding onto Murdoc’s arm for support.

            “I don’t mean to interrupt but your homies just walked in.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Should I bring out some drinks?”

            “Sure, Letí.” Murdoc looked past her as 2D, Noodle and Russel made their way across the bar, 2D waving to him.

            “Okay kids, I’ll be right back.” Letí shot Cal a look and made off for the bar, Cal still holding her bottom.

            “You okay?”

            Cal nodded. “It’s different when there’s booze involved.”

            Murdoc shook his head. “I feel like I know a whole different side to you suddenly. Shall we?”

            “Let’s shall.”

            She and Murdoc walked back to their table, 2D hopping onto one of the barstools.

            “’Ello, friends!” he chimed. “My, Cal, you look lovely tonight. Muds, doesn’t she look lovely? What ’ave you been up to?”

            Murdoc grabbed a couple more barstools while Cal took a seat across from 2D.

            “I just endured the most painful ass-slap of my life.” 2D quickly looked to Murdoc and Cal shook her head. “No, no, it was Letí.”

            “Oh, right.” 2D relaxed back on the stool as Russel and Noodle took a seat on either side of him.

            “Hey guys, how was the day?” greeted Cal.

            “Excellent!” said Noodle. “We went to the La Brea Tarpits and the LACMA –”

            Russel interjected, “The Craft and Folk-Art Museum was superb.”

            “Yes!” chimed 2D. “The tarpits were my favorite, though. I even got another geode for my collection! It’s shaped like Australia.”

            “Exhilarating,” remarked Murdoc, bored, as he took a seat next to Cal.

            “Well, what did you do today, Muds?” inquired Noodle.

            “I slept til nearly five and then came out here with Cal. It’s been an excellent day, actually.”

            “How can you sleep when there’s so much to see?” 2D said.

            “That’s a perk of being hungover.”

            “Fighting fire with fire,” muttered Russel. “What a keen sense of logic.” His face brightened as Letí stopped next to him, gave him a smile, and sat drinks down on the table. “Why Letí, aren’t you looking fine tonight. That necklace brings out the lovely color of your eyes.”

            “Thanks Russel.” She placed a larger Cuba Libra in front of him and tossed a few extra cherries on top. “Because I know you have an appetite.”

            “Only for the best. This body is a temple. I must treat it as such.” He plucked a cherry from the top of his drink and tossed it into his mouth. “I hope you’re able to hang with us at some point. I’d love to converse with you about how you came to own La fénix, and any other details you’d care to share.” His smile was dashing as he lifted his glass to her. Letí placed her hands on her hips, amused.

            “Perhaps we can make that a thing,” she replied, nudging him with her hip. “I’ll see how the kitchen is doing and then come out for a bit.”

            “Why not let Carlito run the show for a night?” suggested Cal, twirling the straw in her Cobra Libra. “You know he’s more than capable.” When Letí didn’t immediately respond, Cal looked around the table. “La fénix is Letí’s baby. She’s very overprotective about her baby.”

            Letí crossed her arms. “Escuche, lady. All this took a considerable amount of time to build. It’s hard to just toss someone else the keys so casually and not have any reservations about what could catch on fire or who could rob the register. That shit happens, ya know.”

            “Carlito is more than capable,” Cal repeated, this time in sing-song fashion.

            Russel added, “I don’t wanna tell you how to run your show, because it looks like you do it so well, but it would be nice to see you sit down for a minute. That way we can get to know Cal’s best friend.”

            Letí rolled her eyes. “Lemme see what I can do.” She pursed her lips in Cal’s direction and returned to the kitchen. It didn’t take long before she was back, a new tray of drinks in tow despite the fact that they were all sipping on their first round, and without her apron. “Miralo, I’m off for the night.”

            Russel and Noodle clapped, 2D’s mouth opened wide in excitement, while Cal raised her Cuba Libra to her.

            “To the woman ensuring we get fucked up tonight,” announced Cal, and everyone held up their glasses. Letí crossed her arms and glanced around the table.

            “Uh-uh. I didn’t say anything about getting fucked up.”

* * *

            The rest of the night was a blur – a loud, laugh-induced blur. 2D and Noodle challenged each other’s musical selections on the jukebox, filling the bar with random songs across the musical spectrum, much to the amusement of the other patrons. At one point, 2D was convinced that he could do the Electric Slide to “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls but ended up dancing with the “traitorous” girls who abandoned him a few notes in, all three girls pulling him in every direction to dance. Noodle was asked to dance by a few people as well, all of whom she indulged for a song each and then came back to the table for another drink, before returning to the dance floor to rescue 2D from a ravenous cluster of females. Cal watched Russel perform Twenty Questions on Letí, fully aware that Letí was amused by his effort, as smooth as it was. But at one point in their conversation (probably by the influence of the Cuba Libras) Letí leaned in closer to him to whisper into his ear as one of Noodle’s louder selections came on, and then she grabbed his hand and led him out onto the dance floor the moment a Spanish song came on.

            “Ven, papí, let’s see those hips work!”

            This left Cal and Murdoc at the table to drink and laugh at their friends and their song choices. Noodle returned at one point, telling Murdoc that a guy was getting too touchy with her. He’d immediately (and unsteadily) jumped up, his nails stabbing into the table, and he whipped his head around at the dance floor.

            “Where’s the fucking bastard – _I’ll skin ’im alive_ ,” he seethed as Noodle took him around the arm.

            “You should mount his head on the wall. Add to the décor,” Cal suggested as she watched Noodle craftily pull Murdoc out into the crowd only to start dancing with him. Murdoc, in an obvious state of panic, swayed awkwardly, Noodle giggling up at his discomfort. She kept it casual with him, twirling herself while holding his hand, trying to turn him but causing them to bump into each other and others dancing around them. Finally, someone else cut in to dance with Noodle, but Murdoc grabbed him by the strap of his tank top.

            “ _Was it you, you fucking pervert?_ ” he demanded, and Noodle immediately stepped between them.

            “I made it up, Rōjin,” she assured him, pressing her hands to his chest to hold him back.

            “ _What?_ ”

            “It was the only way I could get you out here.” She gave him a smile and turned back to the stranger, who gave her a nervous look.

            Murdoc watched Noodle go, the room around him spinning. He caught sight of 2D at the mercy of the girls again, giving them each a turn, before Missy pushed one of them out of the way and pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. To his right, Russel and Letí were still dancing merengue, Russel starting to pick up the moves. The heat from the bodies enclosed him in a hot bubble, making it hard to breathe, the lights blinding him with every flash, until a pair of hands on his waist halted him in place, reminding him that he wasn’t traveling a million miles a second. He turned, and it was Cal who stood staring up at him with a warm smile, obviously fueled by rum as she held the back of her hat to keep it on her head. She locked her thumb in his belt loop.

            “Shall I pull you back to the island?”

            “Save me, Charity Case, I can’t swim.”

            She took his hand and led him back to the table. He promptly downed the rest of his Cuba Libra and motioned to the waitress for another.

            They lost count of how many Cuba Libras they ordered after that. They lost track of who came to the table, who stayed to talk, who shouted triumphantly when a song by 311 came on, who bumped past them or who snapped selfies with them. Everything moved past them in colorful flashes, their voices an incomprehensible din overpowered by the jukebox, until the world stopped and became darkness – one which they both freefell through as everything went silent.

* * *

             Murdoc blinked several times before finding the strength to lift his head. It weighed on him like a boulder, pain erupting throughout his temples, but the coolness of the sheet around him brought him comfort in the fact that he wasn’t waking up in the alleyway behind the bar. Gingerly, he turned onto his back, the brush of cotton against his chest and legs. He was down to his boxer briefs, he realized, but the more the ceiling came into focus, the more he realized it didn’t look familiar at all. Rubbing his eyes, he sat himself up on his elbows, noting the black sheets. At the end of the bed laying horizontally on his belly across Murdoc’s feet was 2D, one hand stretched out near Murdoc’s leg, the other off the end of the bed. He was in his shirt and briefs, his opened mouth smudged with lipstick which also decorated his forehead and neck, his closed eyes partially hidden behind his blue fringe. Murdoc’s heart beat furiously in his chest as he observed the rest of the small space under heavy eyelids, noting Letí sprawled out in her clothes on the couch, and Russel on his back on the floor snoring loudly while Noodle lay curled up next to him, using one of his massive biceps as a pillow. He swallowed hard and looked down next to him. On the other side of the bed was Cal, balled up in a fetal position, the straps of a camisole crawling up her back. Off the side of the bed, he saw a bin, which she had intended to puke in.

_We’re at Cal’s. Okay … maybe we didn’t fuck with everyone present. We wouldn’t have … would we?_

            Murdoc sighed and laid back, a hand on his forehead until he felt 2D stir at his feet. He watched the younger man’s eyelids open barely more than slits as he picked himself up with shaky arms like a wounded soldier pulling himself from a trench, and he crawled up into the space between Murdoc and Cal, falling face-first into one of the unused pillows. He proceeded to lightly snore.

            Murdoc pulled his heavy limbs over the side of the bed, turned himself around, and took 2D around the waist, dragging him to his edge of the bed while 2D clung for life to the pillow he was using. Then, Murdoc stepped over him and dropped between the two, allowing sleep to overcome him.

            It felt like seconds before his eyes opened again. The clock on the bedside table blinked at him, informing him that it was a few hours later. Again, he lifted his head. The room was empty, 2D, Noodle and Letí gone, while Russel stood outside the window at the grill, the smell of barbequed ribs wafting in through the front door. _The others can’t be far_ , he mused, and laid his head back down, catching some hair under his cheek as he did so … long, brown hair that connected to the back of Cal’s head. Murdoc’s eyes widened as he realized that she was laying against his front, his arm slung around her. She was still asleep, his arm moving with every deep breath she took, her arm over his. She was still in the camisole, but Murdoc noted immediately that her legs were bare.

            _Holy fuck_.

            When she shifted against him, he briefly felt the fabric of her panties, but that didn’t stop the erection that formed in record time. Fearfully, Murdoc retracted his arm and flipped around on the bed, wrapping himself in the sheet as she stirred behind him.

            “What the …?” He heard her remark in a tired groan as he felt the mattress depress with her movement. “… holy shit.”

            Murdoc squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if she saw that he was asleep she’d leave him alone long enough to let him mentally relax his dick. He felt stupid, considering in any other situation he would have made use of it, maybe waken her with a proud smile while showing off what he had, maybe even tease her with it if she was still asleep. That wasn’t the case now. Now, he wanted more than anything to be back at the apartment by himself, away from everyone and their prying eyes, knowing damn well that there were already conversations going on – how could there not be? He’d been spooning Cal, and perhaps worse. What if in their drunken state they’d attempted to fuck with the intent to be sly about it, but everyone saw anyway? What if _Noodle_ had seen them – had seen _him_? He wanted to throw up, feeling like a sexual predator, sure that everyone would come crashing in to tell him about all the embarrassing details of the evening. _Goddamn alcohol – how could you do this to me?_         

            “Murdoc?”

            Her voice was quiet. Murdoc opened his eyes and grunted.

            “Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

            Murdoc turned over slowly, keeping the lower half of his body angled in the opposite direction, and pretended to stretch.

            “G’morning, Cal,” he said, quickly returning to his original positioning away from her.

            Behind him, Cal surveyed the room. There were clothes strewn about, clothes she recalled on the group last night, including Letí’s, but everyone else was gone. She could smell the ribs from outside, noting Russel there staring out across the strand. Everyone else was probably on the beach. Turning towards the kitchen, she saw a few coffee mugs sitting on the bar, the coffee maker still on as it kept warm a half-empty pot of black coffee. Her gaze fell to Murdoc, wrapped up in the sheet. He was topless, a tattoo listing the seven deadly sins on his back peeking out just above the sheet. His hair was a mess from what appeared to be a restless night … _or was it because we …?_

            Cal’s cheeks and neck flushed as she drew up her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. _It wouldn’t be the worst thing_ , she considered, side glancing at him. _We’re both adults, both mature enough to understand the consequences … might be a little awkward for a minute but …_ She smirked at her next thought. _Bummer I can’t remember if we did. It was probably a lot of fun._

            There was only one way to find out.

            She turned on her side, facing his back, and gently touched his shoulder. Murdoc whipped his head around, coming face to face with her. He relaxed back onto the pillow, and they both nervously laughed.

            “What a way to wake up, right?” she said, her gaze crossing his chest, causing her to blush again.

            “Right,” he remarked, noting how dangerously close she and her chest were to him. _Think unhappy thoughts, terrible thoughts – Noodle dead, Russel naked … 2D, 2D, 2D._

            “I don’t really remember much after spilling that salsa bowl at the bar.”

            “I don’t remember that at all. I think 2D tripped and fell into me at one point. That Missy girl nearly knocked me off the stool. You … you gave me some kind of odd lap dance.”

            “Oh my god.” Cal put a hand over her face and laughed into it, then placed it on his shoulder. “I did?”

            “Yeah,” Murdoc chuckled. “I think you told 2D to put on something sexy on the juke box, that you were going to give everyone one, but it was only to me.”

            “Fuck … was it good, at least?”

            “It was … well, it was kind of like you were hopping on me and your hair kept hitting me in the face. Then you placed your hand over my eyes and told me I wasn’t allowed to watch. It was confusing but highly entertaining.”

            Cal shook her head, the rueful smirk plastered to her face. “I think I’ll just die now.”

            “Absolutely not, love. Who’ll give me free lap bounces if you do?”

            “True. That’s hard to come by for free nowadays.” She absently stoked his shoulder with her fingertips as she mustered up the courage to ask the next question. “Hey Niccals … do you remember if we … you know …?”

            Murdoc could feel his muscles work to swallow the saliva in the back of his throat. “Not that I recall. I’d hope not, anyway, considering 2D was on the bed at one point, too. I’ve told you I’m no stranger to threesomes but one involving 2D – well, I’d have you just kill me now.”

            “So, what you’re saying is, if we ever have a threesome 2D can’t be involved?”

            “Literally, you could pick any other human being on the planet – well, except Noodle. Or Russ.”

            “Now you’re just making things complicated.”

            “Then we nix the complication and not have a third. It’s much more fun with two, anyway.” Murdoc realized what he’d said and then looked past her at Russel who was waving out at the strand. The group was probably on its way back. “I think I found the rest of the party.”

            Cal turned over and peered through the brightness as Russel waved to the wet group as they crossed through the herds of people along the strand. She sat up. “Looks like they went swimming.”

            “Of course they did,” Murdoc groaned as he forced himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He noticed his clothes strewn out along the floor. It was a wonder they hadn’t been intimate. From the way he’d discarded his clothes, it seemed like they had – or that he’d been set on fire by how quickly they appeared to be discarded. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cal come around the end of the bed, padding to the kitchen for the coffee pot. He couldn’t help but catch the lower curve of her ass peering out at him, her panties hugging her around the hips. It wasn’t any different than when she’d worn her bikini, but because they were _under_ garments meant to be hidden Murdoc couldn’t stop the overwhelming stir in his stomach. He ripped his eyes away and hurried into his jeans.

            “Well, well, well,” teased Letí as she, 2D, Noodle and Russel entered the living room, Russel carrying a plate of ribs. “Look who decided to join the living.”

            Cal, holding a mug of coffee in her hands, turned around and hopped up onto the counter. “Thank you. I’m happy to be here.”

            “You took look like you had fun last night.” Letí grinned between them as she plopped on the couch next to Russel, Noodle stretching out on the floor and 2D laying on his stomach on the end of the bed.

            “We did,” agreed Cal, pursing her lips at Letí.

            Added Murdoc quickly, “With you lot.” He glanced at 2D, noticing the lipstick was gone, in its place a purple hue dotting his neck in three separate areas. “Holy hell, someone tried to eat your neck last night.”

            2D lifted his head and gingerly placed a hand over his tender flesh. “I told Missy less teeth is always better but she said she knew what she was doing.”

            “I’m pretty sure I saw you making out with Stacey,” Letí remarked, confused.

            “There was so many of ’em I lost track of the names,” 2D admitted, offering a rueful smile. “Missy was there the longest, though. I remember cos I kept saying, ‘ow, Missy,’ and she kept responding like that was ’er name.”

            “Yeah, you probably want to get checked for herpes,” added Cal from the counter as she casually sipped on the coffee. “Or rabies.”

            “I’m so glad I wasn’t awake for that,” Noodle commented, shaking her head.

            “Yeah, you were all passed out, actually.” 2D looked around at the group as though mentally mapping out the night. “Letí, you said wanted ta sleep and Rus said take the couch, don’t drive home. Noodle was in the bathroom for a while, hopped in the shower I think, then fell asleep next to Rus. Muds and Cal were on the porch for a bit, still drinking and yelling stuff at people as they passed. That’s when Missy and I made out on the bed for a while.”

            “Ew,” Cal groaned.

            “Well, we were makin’ out on the way ’ere, too. It’s quite hard to walk that way, but Missy didn’t think so and she was just kinda glued to my face. So we were ’ere, ya know –”

            “You guys didn’t fuck on my bed, did you?” Cal interjected. “It’s not you, it’s _her_.”

            2D shook his head. “That would be rude considering you and Muds came in and Muds pushed us both off the bed.”

            Murdoc burst out laughing. “I wish I remembered that.”

            “Again, _so_ thankful I was asleep,” muttered Noodle.

            “Yeah, well, that put Missy off and she left, so I went to brush my teeth while you and Cal undressed each other to the knickers, and she read you some poems from that black book over there.”

            Both Cal and Murdoc froze in place, Noodle, Letí and Russel perking up as they stared between Murdoc and Cal.

            Cal glanced at the bedside table and then swiftly back at 2D. It was not her primary journal laying there, but the one she’d been writing poetry in lately … poetry regarding Stoke. She avoided Letí’s gaze though she knew the woman was smiling madly in her direction.

            “Might as well continue, 2D,” came Letí. “Can’t leave us on a cliffhanger.”

            “For fuck’s sake, we were drunk,” Murdoc exclaimed, chuckling with calm intent. “We all do stupid things when we’re drunk – I mean, look at 2D and Missy, nearly shagging on Cal’s bed. Who the fuck cares?”

            Cal raised her hand. “I do. I’d rather not have that cunt’s cunt on my bed, thanks.”

            “Outside of _that_ situation, I meant,” replied Murdoc through gritted teeth.

            Now Letí raised her hand, wiggling her fingers expectantly. “I do.”

            Russel smirked. “You know I do, Muds. C’mon, D. I’d like to hear the end of this bedtime story. Sounds exciting.”

            Murdoc glared at him. “For Noodle’s sake, we’ll let it go, eh?”

            Noodle waved her hand at him. “Unfortunately, I’ve seen enough in my life to not be totally fazed by this. Just let me know if I need to leave the room should you have any … intimate details about Murdoc, Stu. I really don’t think I can handle anything beyond his arse.”

            “Fucking hell.” Murdoc fell back on the bed, a hand over his face.

            “There was nothing of the sort, actually,” chimed 2D. “Nothing at all. I peeked from the loo before I went to the bed and saw Cal reciting some poetry about rock smashing, Murdoc listening, and then went to the bed and listened for a bit –” Cal’s mouth opened at this – “and then I fell asleep. I thought Missy came ’round again cos I thought she put her finger in my mouth, but it was just Murdoc’s big toe.”

            Everyone laughed at this except for Murdoc and Cal, who both side-glanced each other.

            “On that highly disturbing note, I made ribs,” announced Russel. “Let’s dig in!”

            While the rest of them grabbed some plates and indulged in Russel’s barbecue, Cal went to her dresser and pulled on a pair of board shorts, Murdoc excusing himself to go to the restroom. He promptly locked the door behind him and sat on the edge of the tub, burrowing his face in his hands. He felt stupid for needing to be away from them all, even though nothing had happened between him and Cal – or rather, nothing _expected_ had happened between them. She’d bared a piece of herself to him and he couldn’t remember it – any of it. He was embarrassed and upset about all of it, embarrassed that all of this had to come from 2D’s mouth and upset that he couldn’t remember anything Cal had shared with him. He wished more than anything there was a way out of the bathroom without everyone seeing him escape, but of course fate wouldn’t give him that. The universe was a bitch that had it out for him.

            Laughter from beyond the door creeped in, and his hands balled into fists as he dropped them into his lap. Sighing, he closed his eyes. _Why can’t you be happy? Why can’t you be normal?_ He couldn’t hear what they were laughing about, but suddenly Cal’s laugh sounded, and he gritted his teeth. She was able to be fine despite 2D’s reveal of the night, and he had locked himself in the bathroom.

_Figures. You’re a fucking pussy, Niccals. You always were, and you’ll always be._

            It wasn’t Cal’s voice in his head this time. It was his father’s.

             His chest tight and a rock weighing inside him, Murdoc stood and pushed the door open. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, grabbed his cigarettes and headed for the door, his chin upturned to the story Noodle was telling from the floor about Katsu.

            “Where are you off to?” asked Cal from the edge of the couch near the door.

            “I’ve a headache and am in desperate need of air,” he responded curtly, opening the front door.

            Cal hopped up and caught the door, stopping him. “Want some company?” she asked, lowering her tone.

            He stared down at her for a second and then gave her a shrug, moving past her out to the porch. It was warm, the strand very much alive as the afternoon sun beat down on them. Cal slipped on some flipflops and closed the door behind her, catching up to Murdoc as he started down the strand, lighting his cigarette between anxious fingertips. He inhaled deeply, allowing the hit to fill his lungs, and blew out the smoke towards the sky.

            “You’re weirded out, aren’t you?” Cal said next to him. “Can’t imagine why. We just undressed each other, read poetry and you stuck your toe in 2D’s mouth – ya know, normal adult shit.”

            The cigarette dangling between his lips, Murdoc turned his head towards her. Cal smirked up at him, bit her lip and then bumped him playfully. He didn’t know how or why, but her ridiculous grin and the entire situation lessened the tightness of his insides, relaxing his posture. He plucked the cigarette from his lips and exhaled, unable to stifle the simper that overcame his face. Cal interlinked her arm with his, Murdoc carrying along, relieved by her weight on his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've banged out a couple of (unedited) chapters for everyone that will be posted after I move. Until then, I hope you enjoy this update!
> 
> Chapter 7 Playlist:  
> "Out of Control" & "These Things" - She Wants Revenge  
> "Fade Into You" - Mazzy Star  
> "Sheep" - Benly  
> "Amber" - 311  
> "Keeping Me Alive" - Bob Mosses  
> **I didn't actually listen to "Wannabe" but if this was a film, I think it'd be hilarious to have 2D and Noodle throwing on random 90s pop selections for heated dance-offs; that was my mindset for that scene :D


	8. Chapter 8

           “I’m so in love with this place!” 2D threw his hands up in the air as he stood on the railing at the end of the Santa Monica pier. The flaps of his opened jacket whipped against his torso in the evening breeze, but it didn’t bother him in the least. Instead, he stretched himself out taller, casting his eyes over the dying sunset beyond the horizon, the water below growing a deep navy while the lights behind him glittered the choppy surface with color. The roar of the West Coaster shook the railing and wooden planks under his feet, but this only excited him more as he whipped his head around to marvel at Pacific Park alive behind him, the music energetically boisterous, the lights attracting him like a moth to a light bulb. He dropped his gaze to Murdoc and Cal, who leaned against the railing a distance away from him. Their dark outfits caught the colorful lights from one of the attractions, the blinking bringing them in and out of view. He could tell they were talking, Murdoc close to her, resting his elbows on the railing while Cal was turned towards him with an elbow on the railing and her other hand on her hip. Behind them stood Russel and Letí, Russel carrying a large hunk of blue cotton candy while Letí plucked pieces from it and pointed things out to him. The lights danced in his wide, white eyes as he paid no attention to anything she spoke of but stared directly at the side of Letí’s head.

           2D beamed, gripped the railing and hopped down next to Noodle, her back to the sky and her arms crossed. She was staring at Murdoc and Russel as well, her mouth an even line across her face.

           “Look at ’em, Noods. I couldn’t be happier.”

            Noodle offered him a small smile and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Slow down a little, Stu. You can’t get ahead of yourself – or them.”

           “Can-cha see? This place is romantic! It’s exciting. I betcha someone’s gonna get proposed to tonight.”

            Noodle’s eyes widened, and she quickly turned to him, gripping both of his shoulders. “2D, listen,” her tone was firm now as she stared directly up at his face. “Please don’t wish for that because we both know that can’t happen. It’s way too early for anyone to consider such a decision, and honestly, none of them are ready for that.”

           “How can you say that?” 2D looked past her, only to find all four people still in the same spots. “I mean this whole thing with Rus and Letí was not expected but it’s a happy happening. Letí’s great, she’s gotta lotta spunk, which Rus loves. And Cal – now Cal is the one for Muds cos not only does she share a mutual affinity for black, she also keeps Murdoc in check. He’s been less cranky.”

            Noodle dropped her hands and shook her head. “Those aren’t reasons to be together, let alone get married.”

           2D furrowed his eyebrows. “What more could you want? Murdoc has been soberer here than anywhere else. He’s actually been fun and involved. He loved the Museum of Death and that trip to the Friendship Bell. He even let me pick some songs while we were in Cal’s car. He _never_ does that, Noods.”

           “I won’t say I don’t notice those things, too, Stu. Yes, the past couple of weeks have been … dare I say pleasant, for the most part. Murdoc has been present for once, interacting. It’s nice … really nice.”

           Noodle covertly glanced away from him, out over the darkened water. Cupping her elbows, her eyes lingered over the swells casting whitecaps along the surface, still highlighted in red, yellow and blue from the activity of the theme park. It was alluring, but the deeper she stared into the water, the more she found herself far away, back at Kong Studios. The nights were so dark there, the only twinkling lights she was used to being the string of Christmas lights the boys had hung in her room in an attempt to decorate it. It was an odd fiasco that night. She’d opened her presents from the boys, random oddities that perfectly accentuated their distinct personalities, like the glass box of preserved butterflies whose organs were tagged with tiny pink pins and an accompanying poster explaining the processes of their growth and death; and the treasure chest of dress-up clothes with an assortment of hats, sunglasses and shoes one normally wouldn’t find in a young girl’s closet, but she was excited to run around the house as a punk-rock wizard. Both gifts came wrapped in festive paper, 2D and Russel excited as they watched her open them while they sipped on tea and hot cocoa. Even Murdoc was there, which made her happy because he’d spent most of his time locked away in the Winnebago at the time, usually with some random woman Noodle would only see in passing. Even though she came off as indifferent towards his presence (or rather, his absence), him clinging to the doorway in a drunken stupor as he watched the display from under heavy eyelids made her feel important. He could have easily carried on downstairs in the Winnebago, but he chose to come upstairs for the moment to watch her unwrap her presents. When she was done, Russel and 2D turned expectantly towards Murdoc, the man returning their stare with obvious surprise. He’d burped, looked between the Christmas tree and her, and then smacked his forehead.

           “Oh, s’right, s’right – holiday, yeah?” He’d stumbled forward, smashing his hands into his pockets. “What does one get a lil girl, anyway?” he laughed, receiving no response from the fuming men on the couch. “You got some dead bugs, some clothes fresh from the closet of Sir Elton – suppose you need a good time, don’t ya? That’s what Murdoc ’ere wants, kid, a bloody good time.” He pulled out his wallet and rummaged through it, lint and random pieces of receipts falling out, until he produced a crumpled tenner, which he proudly held out to her. “Was gonna give this to Ari – Beck – well, whatever ’er ruddy name is, but she’s been rather … naughty.”

            Noodle took it, the note reeking of cigarette smoke, and turned it over in her hands. Murdoc patted the top of her head with a little too much weight behind the intention, and Noodle gazed back up at his looming presence.

           “Thassa good lil chicken,” he cooed, straightening up. “Now, Uncle Murdoc must tend to the naughty lil beast downstairs.” Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Noodle watched him disappear beyond the door again while Russel and 2D went to her, offering her their apologies about “sleepy Muds” and eagerly suggesting they decorate her headboard with the extra Christmas lights because they were pretty. For them, that was the end of that particular Christmas gift exchange. She never told them that a few days later, Murdoc came to her room actually tired but more stable in his gait, his arms crossed as he watched her from the doorway while she sat beneath the blinking tree lights, strumming on her guitar.

           “Eh, still got that tenner, kid?”

           Noodle had eyed him and produced it from her pocket.

           “So … if you’re not too busy, wanna go spend it?”

           Noodle had shrugged and then hopped up, seizing his hand as they walked into town. The walk was silent until they passed by some shops.

           “Look, I know it’s only a tenner but if you see something that costs more, I can cover it.”

           Noodle pulled him to an ice cream shop and pointed to an ice cream sundae that was displayed on the menu.

           He gave her a quizzical stare. “Ice cream? Don’t you want something a bit more long-lasting, like a toy or some new guitar strings?”

           Noodle shook her head and vehemently pointed at the picture of the sundae. Murdoc sighed, rolled his eyes and beckoned the store clerk over.

           “She wants that sundae.” He paused and looked down at Noodle. “Anything else?”

           Noodle pointed to a mound of sprinkles and beamed up at him. She could remember the tiniest quiver of his lip before he ordered the clerk to add sprinkles until Noodle told him to stop. Once the sugary confection was complete, she’d pulled Murdoc to a table, made him sit and then proceeded to put a spoonful of ice cream in front of Murdoc’s face.

            “Ah no, that’s all you, kid.”

            Noodle glared at him and held the spoon in front of him until Murdoc finally grumbled and opened his mouth, allowing her to shovel in some of the dessert. She took turns feeding him and then had a bite herself, but Murdoc consumed most of it by force of Noodle. When the bowl was clean, Noodle hopped on his lap and wiped his face with a napkin.

           “Er – uh – thank you?” he remarked, visibly confused about the situation.

           Noodle bowed her head to him, hopped off, and pulled him outside where they walked around the town for a bit, Noodle pointing out random things they passed while Murdoc mentioned facts he could recall regarding what she showed him. She ended up a pub and took a seat, a server chiding her for being on the property, but she remembered the way Murdoc swooped in and shoved some money the server’s way to allow them to sit on the patio so they were away from the cigarette smoke. He told the server he wouldn’t put a curse on him or his family if he quietly brought him a pint and kept the root beer floats coming for Noodle. He also demanded the table be covered in paper so that Noodle could color while he drank. Noodle remembered how fearful the server was as he complied, Murdoc chuckling once he and she were alone.

           “Can’t even find my spell book if I wanted to curse anyone. Fucking pillock.”

           Murdoc got drunk that afternoon and Noodle had to drag him back to Kong, which led to a massive fight between him and Russel, who didn’t know why Noodle would follow him to a pub willingly (Murdoc conveniently leaving out the bit about the ice cream), while 2D played dress up with Noodle to distract her. They didn’t see Murdoc for a few days after that, but he eventually showed up again and everything died down until the next massive blow-up.

           It was Noodle’s favorite Christmas memory.

           A crash from a larger swell hitting one of the posts of the dock shook the wooden panels under her feet, bringing Noodle back into the present. 2D was standing beside her, eyes out on the water as well. She wondered what he was thinking about in his calm state, a pensive look on his face. She felt bad for what she’d told him, but she couldn’t let him know. It was hard enough being disappointed when things didn’t go her way; with 2D, it was absolute devastation. She sighed, and he looked at her.

           “Maybe there’s hope,” she considered. She added quickly, “ _Not_ for marriage, but at least for love.”

           “Love is most important. You can’t have marriage without love, but you can have love without marriage.”

           Noodle offered him a smile. “Very true, Stu.”

            2D gave her a grin. “Would go great in a Hallmark card, ya think?”

            She shook her head and patted his back, turning around to face the pier again. Russel and Letí walked towards them while Murdoc and Cal remained by the railing.

            “You guys wanna head into the park?” asked Letí.

            “Yes, please!” hollered 2D as he pushed away from the railing. “C’mon, Noods, before it gets any later.” He took her hand and led her towards Pacific Pier, Russel and Letí in tow. As they approached Murdoc and Cal, 2D called for them as well. “We’re going in!” He rushed past, Noodle dragging behind him.

           “We’ll catch up,” Cal replied as they all passed, her eyes falling on Letí, who merely smirked at her as she took Russel’s elbow. Cal rolled her eyes.

            Next to her, Murdoc was at the end of his cigarette, taking a final hit off it before smashing the butt onto the railing. Blowing out the smoke, he turned to her, glancing at the group as they moved on ahead.

            “It’s off to the fair then, is it?”

            “I guess so,” replied Cal, remaining against the railing. “Are you into fairs, Niccals?”

            “ _A_ ffairs, yes. But I suppose this will have to do.” He held out his elbow to her, and Cal took it, a coy smile crossing her face. “That was a joke, ya know.”

            “Was it?” Cal teased. “Because I’ve heard some tidbits about your past. Don’t think you can get me to give you sexual favors using counterfeit checks.”

            “Thankfully I’ve got a stash of American notes for that very reason.”

            Cal turned her head away, a grin plastered to her reddened face. It was an odd habit now, one which brought up many questions within her. She knew that Murdoc noticed when she blushed. It was like he was trying to make it happen with the off-color remarks he made, remarks she would have dismissed with anyone else because no one else would have delivered those remarks in the same way Murdoc did. It was like he was trying to flirt with her but there was something there that stopped him right on that threshold of the point of no return. It was odd because he’d spoken about how casual of a lover he was with other women, how forward he could be with action quickly trailing, and yet this wasn’t the case with her. It made her anxious because she wasn’t sure if she was playing into something that wasn’t actually there, or if there was something about her that made him catch himself before he moved into a more sexually aggressive territory.

_Why are you whining? He’ll be gone in a couple weeks anyway. There’s no point_.

           Yes, he would, and yet he and his band mates had spent almost every day with her, and Letí when she could take time off. And when 2D, Russel and Noodle were doing other tourist attractions in the area, Murdoc was either with Cal at the bar or texting her if he was with them. The communication with him was consistent, even when it was playful banter. It was not as personal regarding him as she wanted, but it was present nonetheless. Their deepest conversations consisted of stories about the group, including how 2D obtained his eight ball fractures (Murdoc had tried to sugar coat the incident but Cal managed to get him to fess up, much to her shaking her head in his direction while he’d shrugged it off, assuring her it had all turned out for the best); an extensive rant about Murdoc’s hatred for Donald Trump, which almost led to him smashing a pint glass on the bar top (he was particularly drunk and gloomy that night); and they shared their creative inspirations, ranging from authors to musicians, which became a pissing contest of who’d read or listened to what, which then spiraled into their views on literary theories and the psychology behind the rock star lifestyle. In a way, Cal wanted to know how the latter applied to him, and while he referenced his personal drug use here or there to make a point, it never went further than that before he carried on into the next topic. She was curious about this aspect of his life but still couldn’t bring herself to directly ask him the simple question of what band he was in, let alone how being in that band had influenced his life. She knew it was a significant influence though; his stories took place in various parts of the world, from Europe to a place called Plastic beach to America, and it afforded him the luxury of an expansive palate for booze. He never let her pay the bar tab and if they went out for meals, he never let her pay for those, either. His wallet was never empty, apparently.

            All of this added to the confusion about where he stood (or didn’t) in regards to her. Normally, she would have come right out and asked, but her past partners had never been so elusive on the topic to begin with. Definitely not clever enough to be so, anyway. Murdoc’s approach with her was different entirely, with an air of experience that balanced out the reckless memories he shared with her, and none of it matched what he’d explained about his previous experiences with other women, leaving Cal even more confused.

_Maybe this is what an actual plutonic relationship with a man is like_ , she considered as they entered Pacific Park. _Or maybe I’m really overthinking this …_

            She caught sight of 2D ahead as he stood with a finger on his chin and a fist on his hip, his black eyes scanning the area from under the brim of his khaki fedora.

           “I say we have a go with the Ferris Wheel to get a better scope of the area,” he suggested as he turned back to the rest of the group.

           “It’s a great view,” Letí added. “I don’t think the little carts hold more than four people, though.”

           “You lot go, I’ll stay behind,” said Murdoc.

           “That doesn’t help the situation,” countered 2D. He grinned. “We four can take a cart, and Muds and Cal can take another.”

           Murdoc narrowed his eyes at him. “So particular a planner, you are, Faceache.”

           “Remember, my dad ’ad me work at his fairgrounds back in Crawley. I’m a bit of a professional in this area, Muds.”

           “Professional hardly seems like the appropriate adjective.”

           Russel frowned. “Does everything have to be an inconvenience with you, Muds? Just get in the damn cart and have fun for once.”

           “I bet if it the carts came with stocked bars he’d be on in a flash,” Noodle added as she led them towards the entrance to the Ferris Wheel.

           “ _That’s_ an idea, Noodle,” Murdoc remarked as he watched the others board the first cart. “Try not to let our blue-haired nuisance fall out, will ya? I haven’t quite managed to figure out how to capture his voice independently from his useless body.”

            As the worker closed the gate on their cart, 2D stuck his middle finger out at him, and the massive wheel moved up to reveal the next empty cart. Murdoc gestured to it, allowing Cal to enter first, and when they were situated, the cart slowly started to rotate.

            There was enough room for a small person to sit between them, but as the cart climbed higher and the offshore wind blew in a cold sea breeze, Murdoc looked to Cal and the sleeveless black tank top she wore.

            “You can always slide this way if you’re cold,” he mentioned, without a jacket to offer her this time. 

            “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

            His lip curled. “You know me so well.” He wrapped an arm around her as she moved next to him, her hand resting on his thigh. Murdoc relaxed back against the seat, his senses suddenly aware of everything – the illumination of the theme park below them, the void of the ocean ahead of them, the warmth radiating off her body into his side, the pressure of her fingertips against his jeans … _keep it cool,_ he told himself as his free hand absently tapped against the side of the cart.

            “Are you afraid of heights?”

           “Why do you ask?”

           “You didn’t want to get on, and your grip is kind of tight – not that I mind, or anything.”

           “This kind of stuff isn’t really my thing,” he replied. “But 2D gets hard over it so …”

           “You guys seem to have a different kind of relationship.”

           “We’re a different kind of people, him and I.”

           “Yeah … and you hit him with your car. Essentially twice.”

           “Water under the bridge, I say. It’s not that I don’t like the twit. He’s just that annoying little brother I never asked for but whose well-being I’m obligated to look after. He’s grown on me though, like a funny little tumor.”

           “And Russel? You two take some jabs at each other.”

           “Russ is … well, lately we try to steer clear of one another. He’s generally like a nagging wife, trying to mother us all into submission, but it’s been worse – mind-numbing, really. They’ve been in their little gang mode. When I piss one off, they all leap into attack formation, talons swinging.”

           Cal gave his thigh a squeeze, at which Murdoc tensed. “I bet you make it hard, though, Niccals.”

           “I’m a man of my ways, Cal. They know this.”

           “You can’t stay the same forever. You’re gonna have to compromise eventually.”

           “I don’t know if after fifty-one years of existence that’s possible.”

            Cal turned to him. “Sometimes I forget you’re fifty-one. You’re just so spritely and you drink these college kids under the table like it’s nothing.”

           “Sometimes I forget, too, because I’m hanging out with you.”

           An internal conflict erupted within her. She wanted to revert back to the topic of his relationship with his friends, but now the fork in that path had surfaced.

_Hanging out with you_. Cal bit her lip. _Jesus, woman, calm the fuck down._

           The rough fabric of his jeans and the firmness of his thigh were suddenly present beneath her palm, and she thought that maybe she should retract her hand, embarrassed that she was still touching him. However, he didn’t seem to care that it was there, or maybe he _did_ care and was too polite to say anything.

_Um, it’s Murdoc – ‘too polite’ is not how to describe him … it’s Murdoc – he’s fine with it._

            With this thought, she left it there, pretending to be casual about it even though a whisper of desire prodded at her. There was still so much in his eyes she wanted him to say to her, words that needed to be backed up with actions … _actions_. Her stomach tightened.

_Don’t get cocky, Rivera. This isn’t his first rodeo._

            It was the fear talking, but she kept hearing his words from one of their last encounters in Stoke in her head: _Let’s bold the fucking ink to the end._

            Swallowing hard, she looked up at him while her fingertips gently brushed his jeans. “Kind of off topic but I like hanging out with you, Niccals.”

            “The feeling’s mutual, Cal.” His grip around her tightened, not because he thought she was cold but because the rotation of her fingers on the top of his thigh generated a pleasurable friction which radiated along his skin.

            “We’re friends, right?” she asked quietly. “You trust me to some degree, yeah?”

            Murdoc looked down at her. “Of course.” He paused, a wave of panic overcoming him. “Is everything alright – you okay?”

            Cal smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I just … I don’t want to make things weird.”

            “You say that far too often and have yet to weird me out,” Murdoc chuckled. “I’m dying to know what this ‘weird’ is.” Despite the dim lighting, Murdoc watched her golden cheeks flush as her eyes looked away from him, and without thought, Murdoc caught her chin with his thumb and carefully brought her gaze back to him. Quietly, he told her, “Weird me out, Cal.”

            He couldn’t deny that a large part of him that internally cursed his words, warning him his actions would only lead to trouble – trouble he’d told him he didn’t want to get caught up in right now. He had never been a monogamous man because he’d never been in a relationship long enough to be considered anything more than the guy some chick was fucking. Yes, there had been a few repeat offenders, maybe a couple he would have shagged on a somewhat consistent basis for a short period of time, but that’s all it ever was. He’d never taken his time this way. He hadn’t felt this anxious in a long time – if ever. And he never expected to find himself on some kind of autopilot despite the distinct alarms going off in his head. Whether it was his age or this woman, or some unyielding combination of both, it frightened him.

_Me with alarms? You’ve gone mad, mate_.

           He had no idea why his mind didn’t want his body to react to her. If anything, Cal was the best kind of girl to fuck because she was more than that – she mentally stimulated him, which was something he couldn’t recall with any of those other women. She could keep up with him, she looked smashing in a bikini, she had a foul mouth, she was _into softer restraints._ She didn’t even know who _Murdoc fucking Niccals_ was. That was a first. But beyond this, Murdoc was most turned on by the fact that she could handle her own and didn’t _need_ him. At least he believed that.

            _You owe her something, mate. She’s been subjected to your green arse long enough._

            In the past, he would have taken her with aggressive fervor right there for a quick fuck, maybe finger her or accept a blowie (both, if time permitted), but for whatever reason, and despite his brain fighting his body back, Murdoc found himself leaning into her, his lips gently brushing hers before carefully pressing against them. The arm he had wrapped around her shoulders moved her to him, and he felt her palm leave his thigh to rest against his chest where he was sure she could feel the intensity of his racing heart. He wanted to pull away at that thought, but her lips were soft and inviting, and somehow he knew he’d made the right choice for once. His free hand came around and cradled the side of her face, blindly searching for those freckles he adored so much. It didn’t take her long to part his lips with her tongue, and the kiss became deeper – not sexually but in an act of exploration. Then, her hand moved beneath the right side of his chest, her thumb pressing along his ribs, falling slowly down his torso. Dread locked his muscles, confusing him. She could go lower if she wanted, explore to her heart’s content … but the longer he tasted her, and the more he realized it was her, Cal Rivera, the drunken writer with dangerous reflexes and an honest laugh, the more the alarms rang in his head to stop.

            _Not here. Not like this._

            He hoped that’s what they meant. He believed that’s what they meant.

            With care, Murdoc opened his eyes and broke the kiss, her lips lingering near his as her brown irises appeared between her dark eyelashes. A smile broke out across her face, and her hand fell to his thigh again.

            “Holy shit.” Her words were airy.

            “Was that weird?”

            “Absolutely not.” She paused. “Why’d you stop?”

            “Because,” and his brain pleaded with him not to press on, but he’d already accepted that in this moment, he was the fool. He continued, “I probably wouldn’t be able to if we carried on any longer.”

            The words rang in her ears. _Oh fuck …_

            The cart jerked to a stop, both Murdoc and Cal jumping at the sudden jolt. Looking to the exit, his eyes caught 2D’s, who stood with the group near the exit gate, all of them staring in his direction. The pleasurable endorphins that coursed through him turned to fire. He politely sat back as Cal stepped out of the cart, Murdoc allowing the distance to grow between them. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he and Cal walked to the gate, Russel motioning them over so that they could play some carnival games. Murdoc noticed Noodle’s hand brush 2D’s elbow as though indicating for him to follow she and Russel in the direction of the games, but 2D remained at the gate, his chin on his knuckles as Murdoc and Cal stop before them. Letí took Cal’s hand and pulled her after Russel.

            “Let’s take a walk,” Murdoc heard her say, but he returned his attention to 2D and Noodle, Noodle’s expression alert like it generally was whenever he and 2D fought.

            “So,” started 2D, grinning from ear to ear, “how was the ride?”

            Murdoc cocked an eyebrow and shrugged lethargically. “Like being on any other massive rotating wheel.”

            “We were gonna hit up the carnival area, Muds. Come play some games with us.”

            “I’ll tag along, Noodle.”

            “Maybe win a teddy bear,” added 2D. “For Cal.”

            “What the fuck does that mean?” Murdoc snapped, and Noodle quickly took him around the arm as 2D cowered.

            “It means winning a prize for a friend, Murdoc,” Noodle cut in, standing between them. “Do not start here. It’s been a lovely time so far.”

            Murdoc glared over her head at 2D. “Well, what’s _this one_ on about then?”

            “Boys …”

           “You’ve joked about fucking Cal!” cried 2D, gripping the gate with white knuckles. “You two are really close – was trying to have a laugh!”

           “Boys!”

           “I joke about kicking your arse – shall we make that a reality, too?”

           “ _Boys!_ ”

           Murdoc and 2D both looked at Noodle, her hands placed firmly on Murdoc’s chest as she leaned into him. Murdoc straightened up and stepped back, Noodle dropping her hands. She whipped her head around at 2D.

           “You – stop being childish. And _you_ –” she stabbed her index finger square in Murdoc’s chest, “ _get your head outta your arse and start acting like a human being._ ”

           “ _Me?_ I did _nothing_ this time. It was all _him_.”

           “Listen to yourselves, you’re bloody old men! Stop acting like sniveling little children.” Noodle sighed in exasperation. “Sometimes I really wonder how I survived all these years.”

           “Well, technically there was the whole El Mañana incident, which was Murdoc’s fault.”

           Murdoc bared his teeth. “I also went to Hell and back to look for her – did _you_ , 2Dipshit?”

           “I don’t know how to get to Hell, Muds.”

           “Anyway,” Noodle cut in, “the point is, you both need to stop it. We’re at a bloody fair – we should be having fun, and yet I’m standing here dealing with you. I want to be eating funnel cake and throwing baseballs at empty milk bottles. I want _normalcy_ for once. But neither of you allow that to be because you both get off on screwing with one another.”

           His frown deepening, 2D moved next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Noodle. To make it up to you, I know a very special way to have a funnel cake. I’ll get you one right now.” He gave her a quick squeeze and rushed off, his smile returning.

           She turned to Murdoc and narrowed her eyes at him. Murdoc recoiled at this, holding his hands up in defense. “And you?”

           “What do you want from me?”

           “Your presence. Always. But I know how hard that is for you, so I’ll settle on a stuffed bear.”

           Murdoc rolled his eyes.

           “You think I’m playing. If you don’t win me a stuffed bear by the end of this little excursion tonight, I’ll treat you in the same regard in which you treat me. I’ll walk around in nothing but my knickers, and I’ll burst into your room drunk off my arse, lamenting over some frivolous fuck I had with some nobody.”

           “Sweet Satan, enough already! I don’t want those images …”

           “And you think I do, Muds? Do you have the slightest idea of what I see when I close my eyes at night? Do you even care?”

           “Of course I fucking care,” he retorted through his teeth. “Don’t think me blind, Noodle. I’ve been there since you were ten.”

           “Then you’re blinder than I imagined,” she remarked, her tone softening. “I can probably count on one hand how many times you’ve been _there_ , as you so lovingly recall.” She paused, her gaze falling from his face. “And I won’t say that I don’t treasure those moments, Murdoc, because I do. I treasure them most, honestly, because they’re so hard to come by. You’re very selfish with your time and your affection. I am thankful to be on the receiving end of that for the few times you did step up. But that doesn’t get you out of winning me something.”

           “You’re really on about this fucking bear.”

           Noodle’s expression hardened. “Maybe when you’ve opened your goddamn eyes you’ll understand why.”

           Her words punched him in the stomach, the air caught in the back of his throat. He didn’t know who he was looking at anymore – Noodle, some obscure reflection of himself, or the creation he’d orchestrated in his selfish pursuit of fame. Her voice was foreign, her words acid, and the longer she stared him down, the harsher the pain became. He wanted to give up and walk back to the apartment. He didn’t have to deal with this. That was a lie, he knew, but it made it all feel a little better.

           Before he could gather up the courage to shrug her off, he watched her face lift, blue and red and green lights blinking across her forehead and her cheeks. One of the rides had started up behind him, and for a moment, that familiar childlike amusement she and 2D shared for silly things like theme park rides silenced her anger as though she was recalling something else entirely. All Murdoc saw was a little girl seeing a Christmas tree for the first time. He remembered that look, even though he had been trashed that Christmas. He never imagined she’d be so impressed over its pitiful branches and the haphazard placement of the ornaments 2D had attempted until Russel straightened them out, considering the kid was already exposed to the stage lights they showcased at their shows, which were much more impressive (and expensive). When the tree went up, though, he couldn’t deny what she really was – a kid, one who somehow managed to find the normalcy within the chaos of a life established for her. A kid, who’d added her own ornaments to their shabby tree to be found by them all the next morning. Murdoc wasn’t interested in the discovery at first. Russel and 2D gushed over everything she did. Murdoc didn’t understand it, she was a little human after all, performing actions little humans were supposed to do like any other person. Their fussing over her was irritating … until he covertly made his way to the tree while the others readied for another rehearsal and saw the ornaments Noodle had placed in the center of the tree: a large stuffed brown bear from her bedroom with a hat super glued to its head; a handful of uncooked spaghetti noodles bound together with blue ribbon; and two twigs she’d painted with a shimmery green nail polish bound together in the shape of an inverted cross. He didn’t know how she got Russel to allow her to keep that ornament on there considering Russel was very firm about not letting Murdoc put Satanic décor on their Christmas tree, but she had. He didn’t know if Noodle created an ornament for him because he lived under the same roof and she did so out of obligation, or if she really meant to put something on the tree out of acknowledgement of his existence, but being included by her in their holiday shenanigans made him feel _something_. He wouldn’t say joy or excitement, but it was something.

_Christmas lights … like colorful, nasty sprinkles._

           “Look, before I ruin any more of your evening, I’ll work on that bear,” said Murdoc as he saw 2D heading back towards them with a massive funnel cake in hand.

           Noodle nodded, crossing her arms. As he started to walk past her, Noodle took his arm and stopped him. “I don’t like to fight with you,” she whispered, staring up at the colorful ride beyond him. “But something’s gotta change, Murdoc.”

           “It’s better if I carry on, then.”

           “Did you mean it?” She looked directly into his eyes. “The kiss, did you mean it?”

           Murdoc stared down at her, tensing under her grip. “It was a kiss, Noodle.”

           “You looked like you did.” She gave him a faint smile and released him.

           Murdoc lingered for a second and then moved on, passing 2D silently while the other man presented Noodle the funnel cake that was embarrassingly large, 2D promising to help her finish it as she laughed and thanked him. Murdoc walked towards the center of Pacific Pier where a row of carnival games sat. He noticed a few people standing by a table each holding a beer as the children they were with were playing a water gun game. He sighed and continued on, catching Cal’s familiar laugh up ahead. She, Russel and Letí were at booth shooting targets with BB guns. Over his shoulder, Russel carried a large giraffe and when Murdoc stopped next to Cal, Letí held up a giant stuffed octopus in triumph.

           “You’re on a roll tonight, Letí,” Russel cooed as he took the stuffed animal from her.

           “You must be my good luck charm, papí.” Letí caught sight of Murdoc and touched Russel’s elbow. “C’mon, sugar, I’ll buy you a funnel cake for your services.”

           “I’m all about that cake.”

           “I bet you are.” Letí shot him a wink and then glanced back at Murdoc. “We’ll catch up to you all in a bit.”

           Murdoc nodded and watched them walk off, Russel casting a curious look back at him. A round fired from the rifle next to him, and he turned to Cal, who had already knocked over three targets.

           “You’ve finally underscored your Americanism,” he chuckled and Cal pulled the trigger again, this time missing the target. She smiled as she lowered the gun.

           “Clearly, you’re not _my_ good luck charm,” she teased as the man in the booth handed her a small stuffed octopus. She turned it over in her hands and then handed it to him.

           “Big fucking surprise,” he replied, holding the octopus. “I should give this to Noodle. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get the credit. She’d never believe I won it, anyway.”

           Cal laughed. “I won it for you, loser. Something to remember me by.”

           “Oh, I’ve got some things to remember you by.”

           Cal smirked at him. “Well, give that thing to Noodle, then, but you have to at least have a shot at winning it. It’s only right.” She handed the guy in the booth a few dollars and he gave her a handful of BB rounds and a rifle. Cal turned to Murdoc and held it out to him.

           “I’ve never shot a gun.”

           “Really? The delinquent you were?”

           “We had classy weapons back then, Cal, like switchblades and cutlasses.” He took the rifle from her and she laughed.

           “Well, hardy-har-har, Captain Niccals. I’ll explain aiming in a way you might be able to wrap your mind around. Think of the rifle as your dick.”

           Murdoc nodded, impressed. “Accurate.”

           “And think of that target as some poor chick’s face.”

           “I’m imagining it quite easily.”

           Cal came around him and lifted his elbows, aligning the site in front of his eyes. “When you’re ready, give your dick a good jerk and aim between her eyes.”

           Murdoc looked back at her. “I think I’m going to marry you.”

           “While you’re shooting your load off in some other girl’s face? Romantic.”

           He fired off all the rounds and missed every target, furrowing his brows as he handed the gun back to the guy in the booth who was still caught off-guard by Cal’s explanation about aiming. He turned to Cal and shrugged.

           “Maybe you’re more suited for the kiddie pool ring toss.”

           “Let’s skip that one. Your remarkable euphemisms won’t go over so well there, I’m afraid.”

           “True.”

           They walked along the boardwalk, slowly passing more booths and rides as they went. After a while, Murdoc said, “A few of them saw us kiss.”

           Cal nodded. “They all did. Letí was up my ass about it after we lost you guys.”

           “What did Russel say?”

           “He actually didn’t say anything. He just chuckled every time Letí asked another question about it. I think he was more amused by her fervency.”

           Murdoc ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like fucking school, eh?”

           “They mean well, Niccals. Letí hasn’t seen me with anyone since Ryan, and she really hated him. Naturally, she’s curious.”

           “They’re not used to being involved whenever a girl comes around.”

           “It was just a kiss.”

           He looked to her. “Of course. We’re friends, ya know? It was a very pleasant encounter.”

           “That’s one way to put it.”

           “And how would you?”

           She considered this for a moment and then shrugged. “It felt right. It was great. What else is there to say?”

           “I’ll take that.”

           “You should. I want you to have a good vacation, Niccals. I want you to do the things you want to do, and if hanging out with me is one of those things, I’m down.”

           He nodded. “Exactly, Cal. No complications, no expectations. Just two adults hanging out, having a solid time enjoying each other’s company.” He halted at the next establishment, Cal glancing between him and it.

           “Do you want ice cream, Niccals?”

           “Not particularly, but perhaps you’d like some?”

           She smiled. “Sure. We should take it to the end of the pier though. They’re going to do a firework display soon.”

           “Go on and meet up with everyone. I’ll find you.”

           She nodded and walked back towards the center of the boardwalk, catching sight of 2D’s blue hair as he, Noodle, Russel and Letí sat at a bench conversing.

           “Hey guys,” she called out, and the group looked to her.

           “You two’ve been gone for a minute,” teased Letí. “Ven, chica, we’re gonna watch the show. Where’s your dude?”

           “He’s gonna catch up,” replied Cal.

           “He’s probably getting drunk,” Noodle said, hopping off the bench.

           The group made their way to the end of the pier were a majority of the patrons and other tourists gathered. Suddenly, the darkness above the water lit up in a golden glow followed by a spray of green and blue. None of them noticed when Murdoc walked up behind them, Cal only turning as he handed her an ice cream cone. She smiled.

           “Thanks, Niccals.”

           He returned her smile and then leaned in next to Noodle. In her ear, he said quietly, “You weren’t there to tell the man when to stop, so I had to estimate with the ruddy sprinkles.”

           Noodle cut away from the fireworks to see a hot fudge sundae covered in rainbow sprinkles held out before her in Murdoc’s hand. The corner of her mouth twitched and she looked up at him.

           “Cal won the stuffed octopus. There weren’t any bears.” He glanced at the sundae. “I know you just had cake so don’t feel obligated to finish it.”

           Noodle took the sundae in her hands, her eyes trailing over the multi-colored confection. “I know you’re not into this sort of thing,” she said to him. “Maybe Cal knows some cool pubs for you guys to hang out at while we get on some more rides.”

           “We’ll figure it out after the show,” he replied.

           In her hands, Noodle grasped the sundae tightly.

* * *

           “You know, that little moment between you and Noodle back there was cute. I didn’t realize how into ice cream she is.” Cal walked next to Murdoc as they continued along the strand back towards Venice. There were plenty of people out, walking in either direction. On the road above the strand, cars played loud music as they drove past, bass beats fading in and out while the traffic carried on.

           “It was nothing, really. She had a fondness for it when she was younger.”

           “I’m sure she appreciates it.”

           “It’s just ice cream.”

           “Her expression said it all.” To her right, the waves crashed along the shore, the low rumble erupting from the darkness. The moon cast an endless stretch of pale cream light across the surface. Overhead, stars struggled to shine as they competed with the artificial glow from the city. The night was cool, and despite the walk, goosebumps crawled up Cal’s exposed arms, her long black maxi skirt whipping at her bare ankles. She crossed her arms, recalling how warm Murdoc had been, whether naturally or from the moment.

_We’re friends, ya know?_ The words rang in her ears. _Just two adults hanging out, having a solid time enjoying each other’s company._

           She couldn’t help it. The way he felt against her and how he tasted wouldn’t leave. _If anything, he wouldn’t be opposed to being friends with … benefits, yeah? That could be a thing – a temporary thing._ The word brought on a small sadness. _Temporary._ She had to distract herself. The sudden influx of thoughts amplified by the cold overwhelmed her.

           “So,” she continued, “how long have you known Noodle?”

           “Since she was ten,” he replied, his hands in his pockets.

           “And how do a bunch of grown men come to acquire a little girl?”

           “FedEx, actually.”

           Cal laughed. When he didn’t, she eyed him. “You’re being serious?”

           He nodded. “I put an ad out for a guitarist and she was dropped at our doorstep. She’s been with us ever since.”

           “So, you’ve had the single dad life, then?”

           “Hardly. Her presence didn’t change how I lived for the most part.” He paused, eying a few men up ahead of them with their sweatshirt hoods pulled up. Instinctively, Murdoc took her hand and pulled her closer to him. Cal expected him to drop it once they passed the teens, but his hand remained around hers. She let it be. “Couldn’t run around in the buff anymore, mind you, and out of respect I rerouted my consorts so that we’d have less of a chance of running into her. She was a curious kid, though.” He chuckled, remembering something he didn’t express aloud. “Clever as hell. Strong, too.” The clapping of his heels against the cement filled the silence. “I suppose if I had to be a dad, she’s the kind of kid I’d want. Low maintenance, not really affectionate, independent. You don’t ’ave to worry over her.”

           “You know, even strong, independent women need a little reassurance every now and again, just like their male counterparts.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I think the ice cream was a sweet gesture, Niccals. No pun intended.”

           He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do, really. She deserves a fucking medal for the bullshit she puts up with.”

           “I’m sure a little attention every now and again will suffice.”

           “Are you speaking from experience, Cal?”

           “Are you implying I have daddy issues and crave male attention?”

           “I was referring to you being extremely independent and lacking in the affection department, but that also sounds right.”

           Cal laughed. “I can do affection when it’s wanted, Niccals. I won’t waste my time on anyone who doesn’t want to reciprocate. I’m worth more than that.”

           “Am I safe to assume your time wasn’t wasted on me back there?”

           “Well, _you_ kissed me.”

           “Did you want to kiss me?”

           The grin overtook her face. “What if I said I did, Niccals? Not gonna lie, I didn’t think you had it in you. _You_ are definitely not one for affection.”

           “You think I can’t be affectionate?” He held up the hand that was holding hers.

           She smirked up at him. “Sorry, I thought in your old age you’d forgotten you’d left that there.”

           He stopped them and pulled her to him so that they were face to face. Taking her chin, he said quietly, “You’ve a very feisty tongue, Cal.”

           She narrowed her eyes at his. “I think you love my tongue, Niccals.”

           “I’d love to get to know it better, definitely.”

           Biting her lip, she looked over his shoulder as a muffled siren sounded from the bar behind them. The doorway was dark and a bouncer sat on a stool just outside of it, carding people as they passed between two purple velvet curtains.

           “We should get some drinks and see what can of exploration they take us on.”

           Murdoc’s lips curled as the electricity of her words ignited throughout his body. Taking his grip on her hand, he turned around to face the establishment her gaze had been on seconds ago and saw the neon red sign over the door: Electric Chapel. At first sight of the word ‘chapel,’ Murdoc couldn’t help the bad taste that overcame his mouth, but from the tarnished look of the building’s brick structure which was graffitied on, the harsh look of the bouncer in his ragged jeans and extreme handlebar mustache, and the heavy bass that was deep enough to make the building quiver, Murdoc knew that he needn’t worry about anything except what he was going to drink and what was going to happen between him and Cal tonight. They flashed their IDs to the bouncer (Murdoc less than enthusiastic about doing so) and entered the bar, his mind raced about the predicament in which he found himself. Again, the alarms went off in his brain, reminding him about the thin ice upon which he treaded.

_Is she a long-term kind of girl, short-term … is she serious about this?_ His eye twitched. _Of course not, you fucking twat. What kind of girl would want to be serious with_ you _?_

           His thoughts were overpowered by flickering strobe lights and a beat that punched at his chest. Pausing at the bar, Murdoc glanced around. The crowd wasn’t anything like that at La fénix. There were no tourists or young surfer boys hanging around drinking PBR. Murdoc caught a group of bikers sitting around a wooden table, each with a cigarette hanging from out of their beards. Girls walked around in leather undergarments and fishnets, serving hard alcohol and mismatched pint glasses of beer. A punk rock guy with hot pink liberty spikes made out with a woman on one of the shabby velvet couches along the back wall near a stage, a wad of cash peering over the top of the jean pocket of his vest. The bartender was a chick with at least ten facial piercings and a leopard-spotted buzz cut. He and Cal took a seat on two stools in front of her.

           “What’ll it be?”

           “An Adíos, please,” replied Cal.

           “Maker’s Mark, no ice.” Before she could turn away, he added, “I can smoke in here?”

           “Yeah, but if it’s weed, you gotta go out back,” she said and then turned to the liquor cabinets behind the bar.

           Murdoc nodded, impressed. “You managed to bring me to the one bar in America that slightly resembles home.”

           “Yeah, but we’re still pretty social here.”

           “Can’t win ’em all I suppose.”

           They took their drinks and headed to one of the empty couches, the fabric tickling at Murdoc’s exposed arms. Cal sat next to him, taking a sip from her drink as Murdoc lit up a cigarette.

           “Fuck, this is great,” he remarked, having a hit. “Not that I don’t like Letí’s place. This one’s got that dirty feel I enjoy so much.” Off to his left, two guys – one with a leather collar around his neck – were taking bumps of cocaine off their hands. “You ever done that?” He jerked his head in their direction.

           The straw slipped from between Cal’s lips back into her drink. She shook her head. “I’ve only ever smoked weed, but I haven’t done it in forever. Have you?”

           “Yeah. It’s been a while, though.”

           “I was always too nervous to do any hard drugs, afraid my parents would find out. They would’ve killed me.”

           Murdoc chuckled. “Mine was too drunk to buy groceries, let alone consider my drug habits.” He quickly put the glass to his lips. After swallowing half of its contents, he continued, “It’s hard to keep up with that shit nowadays. Can’t just get it from anybody; these children lace it with shit. I miss the days when buying drugs was like popping into the market for eggs and milk.”

           Cal rested her head on her hand, smiling as her drink warmed her insides. “Back in your day, huh?”

           He rolled his eyes. “Jab about my age all you want, you’re still out with me.”

           “Hey, you’re the one with the age fetish. I tease you because you bring it up. Maybe you’re subconsciously aware because I’m younger than you.”

           “The spinster and the corpse. What a pair we make.”

           “We make a great pair, Niccals. It’s probably why we keep ending up at shitty places like this – we’re into the same vibe.”

           He grinned. “I ’aven’t met a bird like you that’ll endure the lung cancer atmosphere I’ll eventually die from in a long while. S’quite nice.”

           “Letí won’t touch places like these. A little too oscuro for her.”

           He chuckled. “There’s nothing to fear in the dark. You already know me.”

           “I don’t think you’re as dark as you lead on.”

           “Why do you say that?”

           “You have a conscious, Niccals, and a soft side. I can tell.”

           “So did Satan before he fell from Heaven.”

           “Maybe, if you believe that sort of thing.”

           “I’ve been to Hell and back, sweetheart. It’s not belief, it’s truth.”

           She stirred her drink and eyed him. “Religion aside, I think you’re sweeter than you let on. Tonight proves it.”

           “Over ice cream, really?”

           “Ice cream, hand-holding … not so secret kisses on a very public Ferris Wheel.”

           “I know how women operate. I’m very knowledgeable in that area, remember?”

           “I get that, Niccals. But what about how _you_ operate? Do you do that shit to please, to tempt or maybe because a part of you likes it? I mean, do you ever do any of it because you want to, or is it always because it’ll trigger the response you’re looking for?”

           “I feel like I’m on the guillotine right now.”

           “It’s an honest question.”

           “You ask a lot of ’em.”

           “Intelligent people do.”

           He raised his glass to her and threw back the rest of the whiskey. “Can I get another drink first?”

           She retorted, “You’re incredible, you know that?”

           Murdoc hoisted himself up from the couch. “So I’ve been told.”

           “You think I’m irritating now, you just wait!” she called after him. He waved the remark away with his hand. Cal gasped with offense and sat back, shoving the straw into her mouth. She knew the dangers of swallowing an Adíos too fast, but her annoyance got the better of her. Just before she finished it, a waitress walked by, saw her glass and asked if she wanted another. Curtly, she nodded.

           Murdoc returned with a fresh glass of Maker’s, his body warm from the double shot of Jameson he’d indulged in at the bar. Cal was staring up at him, a dark look in her eyes, her empty glass on the floor near her feet. _Shit_.

           “Sorry, love. Didn’t realize you were on empty.” The words were weighty as they slipped out between his lips.

           “There’s already one on the way.”

           He plopped down next to her, a bit of whiskey spilling onto his jeans. “Well, let the lad who’s tempting you know that your da –” He paused, searching for a better adjective. “– your foreign friend would like one as well.”

           “You mean the waitress with the Edgar Allen Poe portrait tattooed on her shoulder.”

           “That works, too.”

           “Were you going to say ‘date’?”

           He sloshed whiskey down his throat. “Lots of words start with ‘D’, love. Dangerous. Derivative. Daddy.” He chuckled at the last one, Cal rolling her eyes at him.

           “I thought you were anti-daddy in every respect.”

           “Granddad?”

           “Doesn’t start with a ‘d’ and you’re not that smooth.”

           “Are we having our first fight? I’m not sure whether to be turned on or put up my dukes.”

           “That’s your problem, Niccals, you can’t commit to a single decision in your head except for the one that involves beating around the bush about everything.”

           “Hey now, I made the decision to kiss you.”

           Cal took her drink from the waitress and quickly swallowed some. “And now you’ve met your quota, huh? Everything else is just flying by the seat of your pants?”

           Murdoc smirked. “If we allow my pants to commandeer this evening, there’s no telling what kind of trouble we’ll find ourselves in.”

           “Are you low-key saying you’d fuck me?” The question came out on a rush of liquor, but even after the second of embarrassment, Cal straightened up, unwilling to be afraid of his response. Still, she swallowed hard and wanted to throw back the entire drink.

           Murdoc stared at her, clicked his tongue behind his teeth and shrugged. “I mean, that’s a bit forward.”

_Cal, you fucking idiot_ , she chided internally. _Of course he’s not into you like that – despite the fact he’s been throwing out fucking. Signs. All. Night._ The blood ran hot in her veins.

           “At least one of us has the balls to say what’s real,” she snapped, and forced her lips onto the rim of her glass, letting the sweetened liquor ignite her insides.

           Murdoc chugged the rest of his whiskey, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and angrily waved at a waitress to bring him another. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ , alright?”

           “I’m sure you didn’t. You don’t seem to mean anything you say or do.”

           Murdoc narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s fucking bullshit. I mean everything I say, everything I do.”

           “When you actually say or do _anything_.”

           “This conversation’s going in some wonky circle,” he spat.

           “I’m _drunk_ , asshole.”

           “What happened to fun drunk, Stoke Cal?”

           “ _She came home to dancing around the truth, too aloof for his own good Murdoc!_ ”

           “Well _that_ Murdoc and _this_ one wouldn’t just fuck Cal like that!”

           “Not that I fucking care but why the fuck kiss me then? You just enjoy fucking around with girls’ emotions? Is that what gets you off?”

           “ _Yes!_ ” he yelled. “ _But not with you_.” He paused, staring at her directly in her reddened face. He wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or not, whether from the alcohol or any actual emotion she had for the subject, but his eyes traced the soft curves of her cheeks, her lips and the almond-shape of her large brown eyes. She was wounded there on the couch before him, but she was sitting tall, maintaining her strength despite the jabs. She could have easily punched him in the face and he would’ve taken the hit, probably passed out from it, but her unyielding posture and blatant look of disdain for the situation confirmed his admission of the truth. Mustering all of the courage within him, he continued, “I know I sound like a piece of shit, and I am, but I say that only because you’re not like _them_. You’re not other women, other stupid, easy women who’ll so quickly suck me off and bore me to death thereafter with their inconsequential desires and beliefs. Women who try to mold me into something I’ll never be, women who make it their sole purpose to _save me_ or some bullshit of the sort. Women who try to trap me for money or their fifteen minutes of fame. Women I don’t give a shit about except to fuck and then tell to fuck off. You’re not _those_ women, Cal. You’re so much better than ’em. Stop trying to undersell yourself. You’re a fucking gem.”

           Her shoulders relaxed and the Adíos she cradled between her hands became a hundred pounds as the condensation from the glass ran between her fingers. Cal looked away from him, pleading with herself not to cry, not to make any kind of scene in front of him, at least until she could get to a bathroom. Around her, no one else knew what was going on. She and Murdoc sat in a bubble, the world beyond it caught up in metal music, arm-wrestling matches, and heavy making out. The tops of her ears burned. Movement next to her brought her eyes back to him as Murdoc scooted closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He leaned in close to her ear.

           “I’m a right idiot,” he whispered, a slight slur to his words. “I’ll take you home.”

           The word rushed out and she nearly spilled her drink as a hand flew to his shoulder, squeezing him just above the collar bone. “No.” The tip of her nose was a couple of inches from his face. “If we keep running every time it gets a little weird then what’s the point of hanging out at all?”

           He nodded, his gaze falling from hers, and then found her mouth on his. Surprised, he sat statuesque as Cal gripped him around the neck, Murdoc holding the whiskey glass out at his side. It took him a moment to register the movement of her lips, which were laced with vodka and simple syrup, the citrusy sweetness invigorating his taste buds until the artificial flavors dissipated, and he tasted her lips and her tongue, their kiss growing deeper with each passing moment. Eagerness coursed through him, radiating from his mouth down into his chest, his core tightening until he realized he no longer wanted to hold onto his drink anymore because touching her was a better idea. After everything that had transpired in the last few minutes, everything they’d said, Cal still wanted to be there with him, kissing him, and if that wasn’t some kind of miracle, he didn’t know what was.

           Without breaking contact with her, Murdoc leaned to the best of his inebriated ability and sat the glass on the floor, whiskey sloshing over the brim, quickly wiped his hand on his pants and placed it on the curve of her waist, his fingers curling around her shape. Instinctively, his grip tightened, mimicking the ferocity he felt in his abdomen and he tugged at her, unsure what her response would be. Much to his surprise – and a happy one at that – Cal also sat her drink on the ground, hiked up her skirt and moved into his lap, straddling him. The alarm in his brain sounded again but he immediately silenced it, knowing damn well that she’d feel his erection, which was unpleasantly constricted beneath his jeans, but he didn’t care anymore. This was partly due to the whiskey but mostly because at this point, how else could he compliment the situation without having a hard-on? He’d be insane not to, and he was sure she’d appreciate the silent yet present tribute to her actions. The frustration came when he felt her gently grinding on him, Murdoc only disappointed that they weren’t elsewhere, like in his room or hers, because all he wanted was for them to be somewhere where they wouldn’t get arrested for indecent exposure.

_Enjoy the bloody moment, mate. Who knows how long it’ll last_.

           He moved a hand to her face, running his palm down her cheek and to her neck, his thumb caressing her throat. In his mind, he wanted to give it a squeeze, wanted to intertwine his fingers in the hair at the base of her head and pull just a bit to see how she’d react. He wanted to bite at her slender neck and down her chest, but the throbbing music continually reminded him that they were in public (thankfully). Instead, he ran both hands down her back, coming to the curve of her ass, and opted for a quick squeeze, hoping the lack of lighting wouldn’t draw in too much attention. After all, other couples were making out around them, some even heavier. She broke from his lips just barely as she gasped in reaction to his squeeze, and through an alcohol-laden gaze, he watched the grin cross her face. He smiled back with devilish intent.

           “I’d have you here if you’d let me,” he breathed raggedly into her ear.

           “I’d let you if it wasn’t illegal.”

           “You’ve got a long skirt. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

           She touched his lips with her thumb, brushing his skin. “Why can’t we take this back to my place?”

           “Never said we couldn’t.”

           She glanced down between them. Cocking an eyebrow, she remarked, “Trust me, I know.”

           He planted a kiss on her mouth. “Before we embark, give me time to cool down. I’d hate to poke someone’s eye out.”

           Cal shook her head with a laugh and slipped off him, her hand falling down his front until it rested on his bulge.

           Murdoc eyed her. “What’re you doing?”

           “Hiding the evidence.”

           “Trust me, love, you’re only exasperating the situation.”

           On Murdoc’s other side, a younger man with a black blazer and skinny jeans plopped down next to them, looking between Murdoc and Cal. Both Cal and Murdoc eyed him in confusion.

           “Who the fuck’re you?” Murdoc spat.

           “Dylan, from the band that’s going on in a bit,” he replied casually.

           “Why the fuck’re you sitting so close to me?”

           “I saw you two and wanted to know how much for a BJ. I’ve got the back room to myself for a few.”

           “What the fuck’re you on about? Are you so desperate as to go up to any random person to ask for a blowjob, you fucking cunt?”

           “Whoa, bruh, I meant no disrespect. I thought your guys’ time was up, and I just wanted something quick before she leaves – unless you two were leaving together, ’cause then I’d ask the call chick on other couch, but I stopped here because this one is hotter.” He looked at Cal. “You kinda look like my ex, but your tits aren’t as big.”

           “ _What_?” Cal seethed. “I’m not a fucking prostitute, you Ed Hardy-wearing piece of shit!”

           Dylan blinked. “You’re not? This is where they usually hang out …”

           Murdoc jumped up and grabbed Dylan by the collar, yanking him off the couch. “Not only have you disrespected my friend, you’ve killed my erection, you goddamn knob!” Murdoc whipped his head around at Cal, who stood up behind him. “You gonna deck ’im, love?”

           “Nope!” she remarked, and then Dylan him between the legs.

           Howling, Dylan doubled over, a few people around gasping at the scene. Murdoc beamed. He stood Dylan upright and hooked him across the chin, Dylan spinning once before falling to the ground. Murdoc laughed and grabbed Cal’s hand as he bent over Dylan.

           “Never mind, shithead, my dick’s hard again.” He snapped his head up as a few security guards broke through the crowd. “Oy, babe, that’s our cue.”

           “I don’t give a fuck.”

           “I’m opting for the Bonnie and Clyde exit – wait, they die, don’t they? What the fuck, _just run_!”

           Cal gathered her skirt with her free hand and ran behind Murdoc towards the back of the bar, Murdoc pushing people out of their path before ramming through the exit door where they found themselves in a cloud of smoke from a group of people getting high near the dumpster. He stopped to inhale a few times before Cal grabbed his elbow and pulled him along, laughing all the way to the street. She caught sight of a car with a Lyft sticker on the back window and yanked Murdoc in its direction, pulling the door open, much to the shock of the driver.

           “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to pull away right now,” commanded Murdoc as he slammed the door shut behind him.

           “What the hell? I’m picking someone up right now!”

           “I will flash you if you fucking take his deal.”

           Murdoc looked at Cal, impressed, and turned back to the driver. “She’ll not flash you and I’ll give you two hundred.”

           Disappointed, the driver nodded and pulled away as Murdoc dug into his pocket for his wallet while Cal chuckled at his side.

           “Spoil sport,” she teased as Murdoc tossed the money into the front seat.

           He rolled his eyes at her and secured her against him with his arm, Cal resting her head against his chest. “Just drop us in Venice, yeah? We’ll walk from there.”

           “You coulda walked from back there,” the Lyft driver countered.

           “And you would’ve been out two hundred dollars, idiot. You’re welcome.”

           It was a quiet five-minute drive and the Lyft driver said nothing as Murdoc helped Cal out of the backseat of his car, and when he sped off, Murdoc and Cal looked at each other and laughed.

           “Can you believe that just happened?” she chuckled as Murdoc took her hand and they started walking towards her studio.

           “I want to say I’m not surprised, but at the same time I’m surprised.”

           “I can’t believe that fucker thought I was a prostitute. I mean, do I give off prostitute vibes?”

           “I don’t think so. I was more offended that he assumed you were and I wasn’t. If anyone can show someone a good time, it’s me.” He winked at Cal and she chuckled.

           “I was having a great time.”

           Murdoc’s lips curled, his grip tightening around her hand. “Well, maybe I’ve met my match in you again, in that regard. Goddammit, Cal.”

           “What did I do?”

           “You let me touch your arse is what. Now all I can think about is _it_.”

           She released his hand and placed it on her bottom, and wrapped her arm around his back. Grinning, Murdoc gave it a squeeze, and then moved his hand around her waist until they made it back to Cal’s.

* * *

           Maybe it was the waning adrenaline from kicking Dylan’s ass, or the amount of time between their make-out session and arriving at Cal’s place, but as soon as they slipped inside and she turned on the lights, the cockiness of each of their egos trembled at the sight of her bed. Once the door was closed and locked, Murdoc picked her up, Cal wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he carried her to the bed, laying her on her back while he stretched out alongside her. They kissed, Murdoc fully aware that his hands could now freely travel, but neither of them moved anywhere risqué. Something was off.

           Cal had slowed in her movements, the lingering buzz of the alcohol weighing down on her. After a while of kissing, her hand crept down his front to the top of his jeans, but much to her surprise, Murdoc caught it and pulled away, shaking his head with a rueful smirk.

           “Everything okay?” she whispered.

           He nodded. “I can’t believe I did that.” He hated the sound of his words. “Can I say something regrettably honest?”

           She nodded with heavy eyelids.

           “I’d rather we try this when we’re both a little more present.”

           Cal yawned. “You sure? I’m totally down if you are.”

           He chuckled. “You’re tired, and … well, if you don’t mind, I wouldn’t be opposed to staying over. Maybe with some sleep these festivities can continue.”

           Cal touched the end of his nose with her finger. “First of all, thank you. I’m really fucking beat. Secondly, we’re old, aren’t we?”

           “I’m old. You’re nearing middle-age.”

           “Fuck you, Niccals.”

           “Later.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to use your toilet,” he announced as he sat up.

           “You better not go jerk off in there when there’s a perfectly willing participant laying right here.”

           Murdoc couldn’t stifle the laugh that escaped his mouth as he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him with a snap. Lifting the toilet seat and unzipping his pants, he yawned deeply as he pissed, his body somewhat relieved by this release, though it desired something more. Holding his dick didn’t help as the festivities of the evening rushed back in an overwhelming onslaught of tingling and anxiety. He felt like a boy again, trying to understand what his body was whispering to him in a language he couldn’t understand, and with no one to translate. His father hadn’t back then, and he felt stupid that at his age he was feeling this way at all.

           Back in Stoke, after the release of Humanz, he didn’t want anything to do with it. He didn’t want another nameless shag and he didn’t want to put forth any effort on another female for a long time. His desire bank had been at its lowest, but suddenly his body felt renewed, the bank full again, though when he thought about the chase, the only person he thought about was Cal. He sighed, shook, zipped up and flushed the toilet, running water over his hands and face before leaning over the sink to stare at himself. Yes, he was fifty-one, and yes, for a while he was sure that he looked older than that, but he didn’t look as tired as he remembered. It was probably the booze messing with his vision. He chuckled.

           “Ya old dog, ya still got it.”

           He flicked the excess water on his hands at the glass, distorting his reflection, and then went back into the room. Cal was curled up on her side facing him, halfway under the sheet. Her necklaces were missing and she was still in her black tank top. Her lips were parted as she breathed deeply, some of her black eyeliner smeared just below her lash-lines.

           Murdoc padded to the bed, stripping off his shirt and his pants, leaving them on the floor. Moving onto his knees, he crawled to her, Cal stirring as she felt his movement. With a heavy arm, she held up the sheet, allowing him to slide in next to her, and the moment he laid back on the pillows, she draped an arm over him, resting her head on his chest. Murdoc situated his arm under her head and placed the other over her arm, mindlessly caressing the skin along her forearm. He turned his head to the bedside table as her breathing steadied again, her writing journal still there.

           “Shall I read you some poetry?” he teased quietly.

           “Nice try.”

           “We did it once but I can’t remember.”

           "I can’t either. It’s probably better that way.”

           “You’d have sex with me but won’t let me read your work. Seems backwards, doesn’t it?”

           Her fingers stroked his chest hair in long, pleasurable strokes. “The body and soul are two very different things, Niccals.”

           “I know it’s all fantastic love letters written to me, love. Don’t be shy.”

           Cal lifted her head and under heavy eyelids, rolled her eyes. “I promise you won’t find my name scribbled next to your last, homeboy. No hearts, stars or sappy shit like that.” She dropped her head and continued to rub his chest. “If it’s that important to you, Murdoc, let me look over some first.”

           “I don’t want anything polished, Cal. I’m not interested in line indents or proper grammar. I want to see you just as you are.”

           Her fingers stopped moving and her eyes popped open. The alcohol evaporated within her veins as his words sobered her up. Cal sat up, her hand lingering on his chest, and Murdoc put his hands behind his head and stared up at her.

           “I think I know how you got all those chicks in the past, man.” She leaned over him and seized the journal, bringing it to her chest as she sat cross-legged next to him.

           “I’m very dedicated to the pursuit of my wants, Cal.”

           She eyed him. “I’ll share _one_ with you right now. But Murdoc, you gotta remember, I don’t usually do this. Not even Letí sees every early draft.”

           “I get it. A writer wants to present her best work to her audience.”

           “It’s not that …”

           “I’m not going to judge you. I just want to hear something honest.”

           “Alright.” She clutched the book firmly. “Don’t get offended.” Murdoc watched her open the book. Without looking at him, Cal started, “I called this one ‘The Fall.’” He wasn’t overly in love with the title but after a moment, he considered what she could mean by it. _The Fall, The Fall – like falling in … love?_

           His chest constricted as he watched her mouth move:

                     “Lonely tower standing tall

                      Above the earth, inclined to fall

                      Let to them it all be known

                      A fall of home now ash and bone

 

                       Quiver, silent; mountains high

                       Titan beneath uninspired sky

                       Until it crumbles over them

                       Destroying secrets lain within

 

                       What a sight! What a show!

                       Entombed in ruin – they’ll never know

                       How weak the frame, though once aglow

                       Doomed to rot in winter’s snow.

 

                        _They’ll never know_

_They’ll never know_.”

           She closed the book, holding it between pressed fingers, and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “They don’t all have that pretentious rhyme scheme but … it felt right for the words.” Her face reddened as she leaned back and sat the journal on her side of the bed. Turning back to him, Cal finally looked at Murdoc. “So … thoughts, if any?”

           Murdoc laid quietly, his mind on overdrive as he tried to ingest her words, the pleasurable cadence of her voice interfering with what she was saying.

           “I liked the cadence,” he remarked swiftly, uncomfortable with the silence. “It works well. It makes me think of the hotel in Stoke.”

           A small smile crossed her face. “Me too.” She laid down next to him, returning her hand to his chest. “Does this bother you?”

           He shook his head, ruminating on the poem. “It’s quite pleasant.”

           “Good. Goodnight, Niccals.” She turned her chin up and kissed him on the cheek. As she pulled away again, Murdoc could still feel the pressure of her lips on his skin. In his mind, her words echoed in quiet vibrations: _they’ll never know, they’ll never know_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading, and as always, feedback, questions, concerns and everything in between are welcome :] 
> 
> Chapter 8 Playlist:  
> Mazzy Star - "Into Dust"  
> Depeche Mode - "Never Let Me Down Again"  
> Faderhead - "TZDV"  
> Rammstein - "Du Hast"  
> The Smiths - "How Soon is Now?"  
> The Cure - "A Forest"


	9. Chapter 9

_He stood in his school uniform staring up at the sign on the front doors of the motel, puffing on a cigarette he’d stolen out of his brother’s denim vest. The nicotine soothed the pain around his left eye that reminded him of last night, a sour taste overcoming his tongue. He inhaled anyway, stepped towards the door and pulled at the wood nailed over it, forbidding entrance._

_After a few splinters and some knuckle bruising, Murdoc wedged himself through the small space he’d managed to create despite the resistance of the wooden barrier and gazed around the still space of the motel’s lobby. Dust particles floated peacefully along the slivers of sunshine that found their way between the slats barring the windows. A moldy smell entered his nostrils, and he quickly straightened and padded across the tattered carpeting, fascinated by the stains and tears beneath his feet. The motel had been condemned for a few years now, having endured several robberies and a murder the neighborhood kids still whispered about, which apparently happened on the second story in room thirteen._

_He scoffed at this – how typical, ‘Room 13.’ Cliché at best. Still, he found himself walking up the stairs, his hand running through the dust that had collected along the railings, and entered the corridor of the second story._

_The wallpaper was ragged, graffitied words sprayed here and there. How anyone gotten in was beyond him, the front door having been a feat to break through. There was probably a window broken somewhere. He knew kids came through to smoke and drink and fuck. He’d heard stories about people staying the night to hold séances or sacrifice animals – in Room 13, of course. He rolled his eyes, and yet still he was compelled to look at each number on every closed door he passed for it, until halfway down the hall he came to one that was open. Glancing up, he saw a distinct 13 etched on the plastic placard. He looked in._

_The carpeting inside matched the rest, an olive green with odd yellow geometrical shapes. There was a rusted-out heater against the back wall, a twin-sized bed with musty green sheets still tucked into the mattress, a faded wooden bedside table supporting a tacky yellow lamp. Opposite of this was a closed door – to the bathing area, he assumed._

_Stepping inside, he caught sight of a woman standing near the door. She was in a long sheer black dress, much too modern for the time. When she lifted her head, Murdoc realized it was Cal._

_She placed a finger to her lips. “Shh.” She beckoned him. “Let’s go for a swim.” Murdoc watched as she slipped her arms out of the straps of the dress, the soft fabric falling lithely down her slender frame, revealing a black bikini underneath. She turned to the bathroom door and opened it, waving at Murdoc to follow. Murdoc moved towards her, his eyes skimming over dirty, yellowing tile. The porcelain bowl of the sink was chipped, and the bathtub was full of dark, murky water._

_Cal pointed down. “The only way out.”_

_“I came through the front door, though.”_

_“It’s gone now.” She smiled at him. “Let’s swim.”_

_Murdoc eyed the water and shifted nervously, glancing back to the room. “I’d better be off. If I get busted again, my dad’ll kill.”_

_“You can’t stay here. You have to swim.”_

_“That’s a fucking tub full of shitty water. I’m not swimming in that.” Murdoc started to back away. “Look I’m sorry but I have to leave before someone catches me.”_

_“They’ll never know. You just have to swim.” Cal’s face contorted in terror and she covered her face with her hands. “Swim, Murdoc, SWIM!” she screamed._

_Wide-eyed, Murdoc whirled around to run when suddenly he slammed into the chest of his father. Sebastian Niccals grinned wildly down at his son, enclosing his hands over Murdoc’s shoulders._

_“You thought you could leave this place, boy?” His laughter filled the space, making the walls tremble. “You’re home, son, right where you want to be.” Sebastian’s amusement ceased as he snapped his head up, looking past Murdoc. He bared his teeth in an animalistic way and dug his nails into Murdoc’s shoulders. “Oh, I see – wanting to have a swim with dear old mum, are ya? Let’s make it a family affair then!”_

_Sebastian seized Murdoc around the collar, Murdoc struggling against him._

_“That’s not mum! Cal – help me!” he cried, ripping at his father’s hands, but Sebastian laughed and backhanded Cal against the wall. She crumbled into cement-like chunks near the base of the toilet._

_“I’ll let you swim, boy, teach you how to fucking swim, you traitorous little leech!” Sebastian pushed Murdoc backward into the tub, the water sloshing over him. His head smacked the bottom. Murdoc threw his hands out, attempting to grip the sides. He managed to break the surface long enough to see Sebastian standing over him, his sleeves rolled up, his smile gone; his mouth was but a line across his emotionless face. “Swim now, my son. Swim to mummy.”_

_Frozen in fear, Murdoc watched his father’s hand come down on him, gripping him around the neck. He was forced under, water filling his mouth and nostrils. He grabbed at his father’s arms, struggling under his weight, thrashing his legs in the small space, but to no avail. His lungs burned, fire coursing through him, every cell within him panicking, screaming for air._

_Pain swelling in this throat from his father’s death grip, Murdoc finally realized everything he did against Sebastian was pointless._

_He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do._

* * *

            Murdoc shot upright, gripping his chest and heaving as he took in as much air as his lungs could manage. His eyes darted around. He was still in Cal’s bed. The illuminated numbers on his phone glowed a bright 04:13 when he grabbed it from the bedside table. He chucked the phone aside and ran a hand over his face, easing himself down, realizing Cal was still sleeping next to him.

            Carefully, he turned towards her as she slept, her breathing filling the silence of the room. He gingerly touched her arm. Not cement. Swallowing hard, Murdoc wedged his arm under her, and wrapped it under her chest, spooning her. He rested his head on the pillow and inhaled, her hair in his face, the lingering pleasantness of rose-scented shampoo filling his nose.

            His body calmed. Closing his eyes, a hot tear slipped down the side of his face but he couldn’t bear to retrieve his hand to wipe away the evidence. 

* * *

            Sunlight crept over Murdoc’s face. As soon as he was aware of it, he popped up to find his boot to throw, but when his eyes opened, 2D was not at the window with his energetic smile. Instead, Cal parted the curtains, allowing in a sliver of the sleepy Venice Beach strand. She was still in her tank top and panties, though she’d pulled her hair up into a bun. She turned around and stopped as she caught his stare.

            “Good morning.” She watched him sit back against the pillows, the sheet wrapped around his waist. The sun illuminated him, highlighting tattoos on his shoulder and forearm that she hadn’t realized were there. The inverted cross that hung down his front glinted at her. Strands of black hair fell over his tired, dark eyes. Finally, his lips curved into a soft smile.

            “This feels backwards,” he drawled. “I’m in your bed and you’re not.”

            Cal moved to the bed and knelt beside him. Murdoc watched her lips turn over on each other, her eyes unable to remain on his.

            “You okay?”

            She nodded. “We made out last night.”

            “We did.”

            “And you spent the night with me.”

            Murdoc propped his head up on his knuckles, watching her closely. “And we did _not_ have sex. I really deserve a pat on the back for that one. Usually doesn’t happen that way.”

            Cal rolled her eyes. “You’re a saint, Niccals.”

            “Don’t go offending me now, it’s been such a bloody good time.”

            Seriousness overcame her face at his words. “We read from my journal again.”

            “Yes, and it was a really good draft, love. Seriously. I’m still wanting to hear more, preferably when I’m a little less inebriated.”

            She nodded, biting her lip. “Murdoc, I … I really enjoy hanging out with you …”

            His smile dropped. He sat himself up and looked away from her. _This is it, wanker. Hope it was fun while it lasted because you’ll never meet a bird like this one again_.

            “But?” he interjected.

            Cal eyed him. “There’s no ‘but.’ I really enjoy hanging out with you and … I guess I’m just wondering if that’s where it ends. Is it just hanging out, or it is something else? I mean, you won’t be here forever.” She paused, gathering her cool. “I mean, I don’t want to come off as _that girl_ , ya know? I like you, Murdoc and … well, I guess what I’m trying say is that I don’t want to do anything that’s going to mess this up since there’s not a lot of time. So, if I do something that makes you uncomfortable or if I’m being too clingy, let me know. I can handle it.”

            “The only way you could offend this old bag of bones is by forcing me to go to Mass or something equally atrocious.”

            “Funny, that’s exactly where I wanted to take you today.”

            He rolled his eyes. “I thought perhaps staying in would be nicer. Maybe pop by Letí’s for a drink or two. No sightseeing, no ruddy tourists, no being burnt at the stake – just us hanging out.” He laid back, tucking his hands under his head and glanced up at the ceiling. “News flash, kid. I like hanging out with you, too. I can’t say what ‘something else’ means in regards to us but,” he turned his head to her, “why the fuck define it? Why not just let what happens, happen? We’ll deal with it as it comes. Trust me, I ’ad no intention of _not_ tormenting you with my illustrious presence until the plane flies me away.”

            “Oh Niccals, you better slow down. The romance is absolutely suffocating me.”

            “You think _that’s_ suffocating?” Murdoc took her around the waist and pulled her to him, Cal laughing as she struggled beneath him. When the giggling ended, Murdoc brushed her fringe aside, taking in the golden color of her skin and the almond shape of her eyes before she upturned her chin to kiss him. More eager than expected, he kissed her back, running a hand down her side, gripping onto her hip just above the waistline of her panties.

            His hand followed the curve of her ass to the back of her thigh, where he gripped her flesh with sprawled fingers. She sighed in pleasure and brought up her knee, hooking her leg around his backside. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, she arched herself into him and let gravity press him down into her hips.

            On the bedside table, Murdoc’s phone blared, causing them both to flinch. Murdoc angrily lifted his head and saw ‘Faceache’ across the screen.

            “Do you need to get that?” Cal asked.

            “Absolutely not,” he replied and kissed her again. Cal moved her hand through his hair, letting the other run down the length of his back, the tips of her nails trailing over his skin.

            “That’s quite nice,” he breathed into her ear and then nipped at her earlobe. Cal gasped at the sensation, pressing harder with her nails and increasing her grip in is hair. 

            Suddenly, Cal’s phone rang, and both she and Murdoc jumped up, Cal scooting out from under him as she grabbed her phone.

            “It’s 2D,” she told him, and Murdoc glowered.

            “I’ll tell ’im to piss off!”

            “What if something’s wrong?”

            “Would it really be the end of the world?”

            Cal narrowed her eyes and then smirked. “Whoa, down boy.”

            Murdoc looked down and saw his erection tenting his boxer briefs. He sat back, giving her a nod. “Oh, that’s all yours if you want it, love.”

            Laughing quietly, Cal answered the phone. “Hey, D, you okay?”

            On the other end, 2D’s gleeful voice filled her ear. “’Ello, friend! I sure am.”

            Cal waited. “Okay … so, what’s up?”

            “Was wondering what you ’er up to. Also, do ya know what happened to Muds? He’s not answering ’is phone, and I’m hoping this isn’t another ditch-related situation. Do you ’appen to ’ave handy a contour map of the surrounding area?”

            “Uh, well no, but Murdoc is here with me.” She paused. “Having breakfast.”

            “Oh, lovely! Glad to ’ear it. So, can we come in then?”

            Cal’s eyes widened and darted to the door. “Sh-sure. Be there in a sec.” She hung up and hopped off the bed. “Get dressed, man!”

            “ _Are you_ _fucking kidding me_?” growled Murdoc, jumping up to find his clothes.

            Cal grabbed a pair of jean shorts from the floor and strolled to the door, waiting while Murdoc struggled into his pants. When he had them zipped up, she turned the knob and found Noodle and 2D standing on her stoop. 2D waved.

            “Hey, guys.” Cal stepped out of the way, allowing them to pass.

            “Hi Cal!” Noodle narrowed her eyes at Murdoc and her tone dropped several degrees in warmth. “Hey asshole.”

            Murdoc hopped up on one of the barstools and crossed a leg over his other knee. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

            “Next time you wanna gallivant about, can you please respond to _one_ of our texts so we know you aren’t dead?”

            “I need to check in now?”

            Noodle grabbed his phone and held it out to him. “You idiot, you have multiple texts from 2D, one from me and – well, Russel refused, but he sends his regards.”

            “Where’s the old sodding wet blanket, anyway?”

            “Letí’s, having breakfast,” chimed 2D. “Speaking of, what’d you lot have and were there leftovers?”

            Cal and Murdoc glanced at each other. “Well, I remembered I hadn’t gone to the store yet so I think we were gonna head out to eat.”

            “We should go to La fénix and meet up with Russ and Letí!”

            “Great, at least then I can get a drink,” muttered Murdoc.

            “Sounds like a plan,” Cal remarked. “I can get some writing done for an article while it’s dead,” She glanced over at her journal. “But, I’ll catch up with you guys. I need to run an errand.”

            “Excellent. We’ll see you there,” said Noodle as she and 2D headed back out the door.

            Murdoc caught Cal’s arm as she moved past him.

            “Do you really have an errand?”

            She nodded. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

            “Do you want a passenger?”

            She hesitated. “I wouldn’t mind, but it’s something personal. I’d hate to put you off.”

            Murdoc hopped off the stool. “Eh, I won’t lie and say I haven’t been conned into purchasing tampons for Noodle before.”

            Cal cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not on my period, genius. I need to go to the cemetery. To clean off my aunt’s headstone. Change the flowers out. It’s been a while.”

            Murdoc nodded. “Well, I’m no stranger to cemeteries, but I understand if you want to be alone. Not that I would intrude if I were present. I get it.”

            The corner of her mouth curved. “You’re such a good friend, Niccals.”

            “The best, actually.” He slapped her butt as she turned to get her journal.

* * *

            The drive to Rose Hills was nice, though the morning traffic along the 60 slowed them down. Cal had pulled the top off her old Wrangler and the fresh air was pleasant until they got further inland, where the exhaust from the traffic was overwhelming, initially.

            But thanks to the classic rock playlist that sparked spirited conversation about music in general, the quality of the Los Angeles air was lost to Cal’s support of mosh pits and Murdoc’s anecdotes about the many bands he’d started in his youth, especially with the musical culture in Stoke during the eighties. This reminded them both of Murdoc’s current musical career, but Murdoc didn’t say anything about Gorillaz and Cal opted not to ask, though she did tell him that if he or the band wanted to jam out, there were instruments behind the stage at La fénix they could use. Murdoc had nodded, mulling over the idea. He couldn’t lie, it felt like forever since he’d held his bass and it was starting to bother him.

            At the cemetery, Murdoc hung back near the Wrangler, watching Cal behind his sunglasses while she knelt, wiping away dirt and decayed leaves from the last batch of roses she’d left for Lily. She was right, no one tended the grave but her. While Murdoc was sure it’d be the same for him, and while he had no intention of ever performing such a basic gesture for his father or brother when their time came, he couldn’t help but feel sad for her.

            He took a puff of his cigarette, the pleasant rush of nicotine invigorating his stiff muscles, creating a high that was fueled by their morning physicality. He hadn’t slept much, having someone else in his bed that wasn’t 2D. He’d spent all of his childhood and early teenage years in an empty bed, unable to crawl into his father or brother’s if he needed to, forced to accept his nightmares and fears until sheer exhaustion finally forced him to sleep.

            He supposed he filled his bed with temporary relief to make up for all those nights alone, but the company became burdensome, which was why he didn’t like his company to stay for too long. He liked to be able to sprawl out, to twist and turn to his heart’s content, and having another body there made him feel constricted. He tolerated 2D’s presence in that whenever the man had had too much to drink, or if he got so stoned that it was more trouble to attempt to carry him to his own room, Murdoc left him there, a statue-like beanpole that could endure Murdoc’s active sleeping style – when he was able to find sleep.

            And when he couldn’t, Murdoc didn’t mind listening to the quiet rhythm of 2D’s snores. Sometimes, if 2D was especially passed out, Murdoc would talk openly to him, alleviating himself of his worries about the band, about the gnawing frustrations he had with himself and his inability to translate those feelings into song, and his fears that one day Russel, Noodle and 2D would find something better and move on without him. They wouldn’t call or seek him out to catch up – why would they? His own blood relations had no desire to, especially since Murdoc refused to provide them any kind of financial support, so why should the band? Murdoc didn’t bring them anything except headaches, worry and an uncontrollable rage that brewed ongoing discontent that solidified the bold line in the sand between them and him.

            He was good at that, he knew. He needed to be, having had his hand forced by Sebastian and Hannibal, both physically and mentally. But instead of being screamed at or having random objects thrown at him for his mere existence, Murdoc knew the pain of that existence boiled within his faux-family, in turn wearing them down. How they hadn’t all whittled away to nothing yet proved how strong they’d each become. Murdoc was a disease, a destroyer – the very bat he had smashed into the concrete of the motel in Stoke. He didn’t know how else to be: mentally drained and broken from the lingering voice of his father reminding him that he was different from everyone else – not as an individual, but as a freak needing continual guidance.

            _You’ll never be anything without me, Murdoc, not with that sodding noise you call music or those ridiculous clothes, you fucking nancy. They’ll all walk away once they know you – everyone does – and you’ll be all alone again, crawling back to daddy – the only one who knows the_ real _you. Your mum thought she’d make it out of this cesspool, too. Joke’s on her. On you._

            “Fucking asshole.”

            Murdoc dropped the cigarette to the ground, smashing it with the heel of his boot, taking extra care to really spread it along the gravel. Lifting his head, he watched Cal stand, holding her journal out as she turned a few pages and stopped. She quietly read from it, her words aimed at her feet and the now clutter-free grave.

            He tried not to listen, looking away as a cool breeze awakened the leaves of a tree branch overhead, but the distinct “ _What the fuck?_ ” that cut off one of her lines turned him back. Cal crouched down and pulled what looked to be a rosary out of the flower holder just above the grave. She turned it over in her hand, held it close to her face for a second, and then hurled it into the distance. She snapped the journal shut and retreated to the Wrangler, her brow furrowed.

            Murdoc leaned against the passenger door, trying to read her mood. It wasn’t a look he liked on her; it was foreign and a bit unnerving. He was sure that she might punch something as she approached him, and his hands clenched in his pockets in involuntary reaction.

            “What was that?”

            Cal tossed her journal into the backseat. “A token of Mom’s appreciation.” She eyed him. “I hate to sound like some shithead teen, but can I bum a smoke?”

            Murdoc’s eyebrows raised under his bangs. “Do you even know how?”

            Cal pursed her lips and held out her hand. “It’s not a fully developed habit.”

            Murdoc pulled the pack out of his back pocket, palming two cigarettes. Taking out his matchbox, he lit hers first. She took a drag, her nose crinkling as she exhaled, Murdoc observing with a coy smile playing on his lips. He recalled the first time he ever smoked, having stolen a cigarette from his brother’s room when he was nine. He was compelled and curious, and it was a terrible first experience that he wished he could have had some instruction on. He’d wanted to ease his nerves over a moment robbed from him by the lunch lady at school, but instead nearly suffocated himself in a cloud of smoke, narrowly avoiding the eye of his drunken father as he stumbled in from a long morning at one of the neighborhood pubs.

            “Tastes like shit.”

            “Taste – what’s taste?” Murdoc flicked his cigarette and watched some ash fall. “Alright, rebel child, what brought this on? Some fucking rosary nonsense?”

            “They never visit her, and yet this time around I find that. I don’t think it was meant for Lily.”

            “Maybe someone dropped it accidentally.”

            “It wasn’t accidental.”

            “Oh, and I assume you found a note connecting it to your aunt’s grave, then?”

            Cal took a final drag, then crouched to stub the cigarette out in the gravel before straightening and tucking the spent butt into her back pocket. “More or less.” She went around the Wrangler and hopped into the driver’s seat. Murdoc eyed her through the window, perplexed, following suit hurriedly when she revved the engine.

            “Was there really a note?” he asked as they pulled away.

            Cal shook her head. “An inscription. On the back of the cross. ‘Psalm 34: 18-19.’”

            Murdoc shrugged. “Perhaps in human tongue, would you? I don’t quite remember that one.”

            “I’m surprised you’ve opened a bible at all, Mr. Satanist.”

            “How else can you argue anything if you don’t know all sides?”

            “‘The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all.’”

            He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Well now, I’m surprised you just pulled that verse from thin air. Is that really it?”

            Cal nodded. “I know a lot of verses, Niccals, especially that one. When she and my aunt would get on the topic of Lily’s depression, my mom would recite it to her like it was supposed to cure her. And any time my mom found my mood to be not to her liking, she made me recite it. ‘You have it good, mija, so stop frowning. The Lord is with you.’ That was always her conclusion. I wasn’t allowed to be unhappy. I think it reminded her too much of Lily – and after Lily died, she made sure that verse was everywhere. She can’t stand to think I may kill myself, too. Not because she’ll be out a daughter, but because she can’t have too many relatives burning in Hell. It’ll make her look bad, like she’s failed as a mother.” Her knuckles grew white around the bulb of the gear shift. “My parents hate failure.”

            Murdoc shifted in his seat, thoughts of his home life rushing through him in a nauseating wave, but she’d shared with him and he felt compelled to reciprocate. “My dad never taught me bible verses, but he made me do idiotic things to fuel his bar tab.”

            “What kinds of things?”

            He clutched at the back of his neck. “Entered me into talent contests. Made me sing and dance. Stupid shit like that, that no kid wants to endure.” He avoided her gaze, eyes focused on the freeway, lips in a straight line across his face. “I suppose in a strange way I have him to thank for all this. My interest in music, that is. In working to get where I am and showing him I’m worth more than a cheap hangover.”

            “And running over bandmates along the way?”

            He side-glanced her, and she grinned.

            “Yes, the aggression, obviously.”

            “No offense, but he sounds like a terrible person.”

            “Offense? Hell, I’ll be the first to admit Sebastian’s a monster. He’s literally the worst.”

            “Sebastian?”

            Murdoc stiffened. His father’s name hadn’t escaped his lips in a long time, especially not to any of his female companions. “Well yes. That’s his name.”

            He’d dropped a line, left her an opening. She decided to try her luck. “And your brother?”

            “My brother … Hannibal, yes, he wasn’t _as_ terrible but he was still pretty bad. Banged up my nose a couple times over me using his record player. Called me every name in the bloody book for as long as I can remember. Hardly ever came to my rescue against Sebastian, not because he was afraid of our father, he told me, but because he said I needed _character_. Yes, that’s it, a five-year-old needs character beaten into him whenever he protested going to another ruddy singing contest because he’d rather play outside. A seven-year-old needs character verbally lashed into him because some other kid’s costume was more creative which nabbed him the win. A thirteen-year-old needs character imprinted onto him with a swift backhand because he’ll simply amount to nothing – can’t perform, can’t focus in school, can’t do a bloody thing right, which makes the Niccals lineage look bad.

            ‘Well look at the fucking Niccals lineage now. Somehow my father’s still alive, so I’ve heard – witchcraft, probably, or a right bloody curse someone hexed me with, and Hannibal’s banged up without parole for who knows how long. And then there’s me, Murdoc Fucking-Posterchild-of-Character Niccals, bassist for the world’s greatest band, which _I_ concocted, mind you, making more money than any of ’em could fathom, balls deep in a rock star lifestyle peons like _them_ cannot comprehend. So yeah, love, I know a thing or two about not living up to parental standards. I guess I should be thankful Sebastian didn’t make me recite biblical verses, though, in the end.” He chuckled bitterly. “Lucked out there, didn’t I?”

            She reached across the space between them and put her hand on his thigh, giving it a sympathetic squeeze, but he refused to look at her, instead focusing on the graffiti art on the overpasses they rode under. They sat in silence for the moment, “Jesus Alone” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds filling the inside of the Wrangler with a melodic heaviness. Her hand moved from his thigh back to the gear shift, the movement slow and painful to watch as his eyes followed her slender fingers away from him. The heat from her palm lingered on this thigh, his skin tender with phantom sensation.

            It was a lovely thing to have the touch of another imprinted onto you when it was done out of love or concern or comfort, and when it was done with consensual regard. And yet, even in those lovely moments, the reminder of pain embedded into his flesh by Sebastian and Hannibal, and countless others who’d taken jabs at him and advantage of his vulnerability in the past, made it hard for him to accept and reciprocate the gesture. Somehow, the grip on his neck and the heaviness of water filling his lungs from his dream remained as though it was real. Maybe in some repressed memory it was. He couldn’t be sure.

            Still, as he timidly cast a glance in Cal’s direction, her wind-whipped hairy hiding and revealing her face so that it flickered like an imagine in an old film until she caught a tendril of it and forced it behind her ear, Murdoc knew that for the first time in a while, there was a touch that rivaled his father’s and brother’s.

            He knew the touch from Noodle, though hers was an innocent one without romantic connotation, one which made him feel like perhaps he wasn’t the monster Sebastian had managed to convince him he was, that perhaps he was capable of being something satisfactory to someone else, even though he’d received plenty of resistance from her as well.

            Then, of course, there was 2D’s arm around the shoulder, generally done whenever he was pissed from a long night at the bar. Murdoc usually assumed that he was using him as a support to stand, but every now and again 2D’s hand would close over his chest, or the arm would give his neck a brief squeeze, not to suggest anything other than 2D acknowledging that Murdoc was there, and he was real, and that 2D was glad of his existence.

            Russel and Murdoc rarely ever touched, and when it happened of late, it was accidental. However, they had shared a handshake a few times, and after particularly good practice or recording sessions either of them might clamp a hand on the other’s shoulder as a means of praise. And while Murdoc believed that Russel really meant nothing by it, even those instances remained with him.

            The flood of emotion, as unwanted as it was, surged over him. Murdoc quaked beneath it, thankful for the music and for the coverage on his face. He turned his head away, wanting nothing more than to disappear from her existence, knowing that Cal didn’t deserve the company of someone like him – someone so weak and cowardly. Against his better judgement, and in that moment of uncomfortable weakness, he allowed her imprint to win against the lengthy, complicated history of his body, and he moved his hand over hers on the gear shift, enclosing his palm over her knuckles, terrified of her reaction. His silent screams ceased when she turned her hand over and interlaced her fingers with his, her thumb caressing the outside of his hand.

            “It’ll stop hurting when we’re dead.” Her quiet voice cut through him, overpowering the rush of the wind and the rhythm of the radio. “But we take the pain and craft it into something beautiful, something good.” She looked at him. “You have so much to offer, Murdoc. So much potential. I hope one day those words will quiet whatever still resonates from your father.”

            He nodded his head in a curt motion, his chin resting on his palm as he stared unseeing out the window. His entire existence was focused on that gentle caress of her skin on his.

* * *

            La fénix was mostly empty when they made it back to Venice, a few locals hanging out at the tables outside. Noodle and 2D were nowhere to be found, but Letí and Russel sat at the bar together looking over her menu, each with a beer. Her laptop tucked under her arm, Cal headed to the bar while Murdoc casually made his way towards the stage.

            “I told Niccals the instruments were available should you guys wanna jam out,” Cal told Russel in place of a hello, pulling up a stool on Letí’s other side.

            “You got instruments back there?” asked Russel.

            “Yeah,” Letí replied. “I have local band nights every now and again.”

            “This place has everything,” Russel remarked, returning to the menu. “Would be an excellent spot to hold a real bangin’ party. Letí, how much do you charge to rent it out?”

            “Honestly, I’ve never had anyone ask,” Letí admitted. “Are you interested?”

            “I think it would be a good investment option,” explained Russel. “We can have karaoke and maybe a specialized drink menu to bring people in.”

            “So it’s open invitation?”

            “Sure. Our normal crew isn’t here so we can open it up to everyone. We’ll cover the rental cost so it’s not an out of pocket expense for you.” He paused. “Is this something you’d be open to at all? I’ll pay whatever amount for the inconvenience.”

            “It’s not an inconvenience,” said Letí. “I mean, you guys are welcome to have a party. You wouldn’t have to pay.”

            Russel held up a hand. “I insist. If we bust out the musical equipment and tamper with the space, it automatically becomes an inconvenience. Also …” His cheeks flushed a bit before he cleared his throat and regained his businesslike composure. “I’ve been doing some research on Dominican food and was hoping to see if we could make a couple of those dishes happen tonight – easy ones, of course, specialized items specifically for the party that you could make your money back on.”

            While Letí was mouthing _tonight?_ to herself in vague horror, Cal leaned forward on the bar top to eye him. “Is there anything in particular you’re celebrating, Russ? A Dominican holiday we’re not aware of?”

            Russel stared back at her, uneasy. “I think a party for the sake of partying is enough.”

            “While I agree wholly with that sentiment, Russ, you had a birthday not too long ago,” Murdoc called across the room, holding a red bass against this torso. “Wouldn’t happen to be making up for missed opportunities while we were on the road, eh?”

            Russel narrowed his eyes at Murdoc. “Come to think of it, _you_ turned _fifty-two_ a few days after me and drank yourself stupid in the back of the bus by yourself.”

            “I offered you wankers an invitation to celebrate the momentous occasion with me but you lot decided a furious game of Monopoly was more entertaining, so I made my own way. There weren’t enough shots to drown out 2D’s panic attacks every time he went bankrupt.”

            “You swallowing his Scottish Terrier piece didn’t help.”

            Cal whipped her head around at Murdoc. “You swallowed a Monopoly token?”

            “He’s swallowed a lot worse,” muttered Russel.

            “I was proving a point,” Murdoc stated firmly.

            “The point being that you’ll put anything in your mouth when you’re that drunk?” remarked Russel.

            “Come now, Russ, you know I don’t have to be _that_ drunk.” Murdoc snickered to himself. He then straightened up. “A few days later that joke wasn’t so funny.”

            The trio at the bar cringed at the thought.

            “Can we get back to this party, please, sucío? You said it was Russel’s birthday?”

            “Third of June, yeah. I was the sixth.”

            “We don’t need to advertise that, though,” Russel cut in. “It can just be a party.”

            “But if we are celebrating our birthdays, we’ll have to include Faceache because his was the twenty-third of May, and you know he’ll be all bent out of shape if we don’t include him.”

            “Let ’im DJ,” suggested Russel. “He can keep everyone hyped with the music and karaoke.”

            Murdoc nodded. “He’ll be stupid excited over that.”

            Russel turned back to Letí. “I can help cook. I have a real personal flair in the kitchen.”

            “That’s actually true,” Murdoc said. “Russ is a fine cook.”

            “Thanks, Muds. It’s good to know you have decent taste some of the time.”

            “We also need some PR. It doesn’t have to be spectacle-status, but we do need an angle to get people in here to fund this little event.” Murdoc approached, his thumb running over the bass strings in a pleasant rhythm. “Let me tell you, whenever I’m pissed off my rocker, I tend to be exceedingly generous. I’ll give the most godawful looking waitress a few triple digit notes just for walking a few feet to bring me a drink.”

            “How princely of you, Murdoc,” scoffed Letí.

            “Right, my point being, other tossers like me’ll throw money at something shiny and new without you having to put a finger extra in your till to please us. But you must bring us in, make it worth our while, and then we’ll be eating out of your palm. Or rather, drinking ourselves stupid. Your choice, really.”

            “I get what Muds is saying, albeit in the most asshole way possible,” commented Russel. “I’ll create a short, specialized menu – with your approval and guidance, of course, Letí – and we can do drink specials. That way the regulars still have a taste of home and we bring in fresh faces at the same time. The event’ll amp up this otherwise relaxed Monday evening.”

            “So,” said Letí, “you want to have a DJ, karaoke, food and drink specials to celebrate your birthdays.” She crossed her arms. “And you said _tonight_?”

            Russel and Murdoc exchanged looks. “Yes?” Russel tried.

            Letí bit her full bottom lip. “I don’t know, guys, that seems like a lot of work in such a short time.”

            “For one person, yes. But you ain’t alone, Letí.” Russel smiled broadly at her. “I’d be honored to help you out. And celebrate with you.”

            “You have all the real bases covered,” said Murdoc. “Noodle can make the signage outside.”

            “And you, Niccals?” asked Cal, smirking up at him.

            “Oh, I’ll have the most important job of all – drink specials. If anyone knows about booze and money, it’s me.”

            Letí snatched a nervous glance at Cal. “I’ve never done anything like this before with La fénix.”

            “Maybe it’s time you break away from that one-track state of mind Miguel instilled in you,” said Cal. “He wasn’t a businessman at all, and maybe this is your opportunity.”

            “Who’s Miguel?” asked Russel.  

            Straightening up, Letí said, “Miguel was my husband. He bought this place and turned it into a bar, building up the restaurant side for me because I’ve always been into food, music and entertainment. I fought him for it during our divorce because all he did with it was use it for his personal alcoholism. His vision for this place and mine were two opposite things. You don’t create bars and restaurants for personal gain; you build these places for community, for cultural expression and appreciation, and to contribute to the narrative of the place you live. La fénix, she’s mí corazón, mí alma, the one thing I can honestly say I created. All these decorations in here, the pictures, the signs – none of it’s random. They link to somebody, somewhere, and when you walk into this place, they make it feel like home. This is _my_ home, mí casa, but I want it to feel like yours, like Cal’s, for everyone who passes through. And maybe this party idea will help.”

            Russel beamed. “We won’t let you down, Letí. We’ll handle her with care.”

            Letí took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before nodding, a smile creeping over her face. “Okay, alright. Let’s do this.”  

* * *

            When 2D and Noodle returned, both wet, sandy messes from swimming, Russel updated them on the plan for the afternoon.

            “ _There’s karaoke and nobody told me_?!” exclaimed 2D.

            “You do realize there’s a goddamn stage behind me, right?” Russel rolled his eyes. “Anyway, D, you’re on that. If people aren’t singing, you fill in and hype them up. Get them dancing. And Noodle –”

            “You don’t even have to explain it to me, Russ. I’ll head back to the apartment to change and grab some supplies from a shop I saw down the way.”

            “I need to work on a master playlist for tonight,” 2D chimed. “A fine mix that’ll really get this place grooving.” He cast a toothy grin at them. “Not gonna lie, I’ve missed the mic a tad.”

            Noodle nodded. “Murdoc said there’s an entire ensemble of instruments behind the stage.” She bit her lip. “Hey, maybe if the place needs any kind of extra incentive tonight, we could do some songs – not necessarily our own but … I don’t know, something.”

            Russel nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. We’ll see how the night progresses.”

            “Why not just put on a small show, eh? It’s a party, innit?”

            “Yeah, D, as much I want to do that for Letí, who knows how that’ll turn out,” replied Russel. “Best case scenario, no one knows the band and it’s just a really fun time. Worst case scenario, we can’t come back to the bar for the rest of our holiday and people hound Letí about it, causing her unnecessary strain. And selfishly, I _really_ want to have the bar as an option for us to come back to.”

            A wide smile split Noodle’s face. “You really like her, don’t you?”

            Russel’s cheeks flushed as he adjusted the hat on his head. “What’s not to like? She’s goal-oriented, compassionate, a real fine example of human decency. Haven’t met a girl like her in a long time.”

            “I think you two get along quite well, actually.” 2D placed a hand on Russel’s shoulder.

            “Thanks D. But this isn’t about that. I just wanna do something different for once. It’s been a great vacation so far but … my hands miss working. And this is a great opportunity to get some real work done.”

            “Yeah well you do that, and you let whatever happens happen with Letí.” Noodle grinned at him. “Because the way she’s looking at you right now, at least in female language, that translates to absolutely in adore mode.”

            All three of them glanced at Letí, who stood with Murdoc as he explained his ideas for the drink specials. She gave them a surprised grin and then promptly looked back to Murdoc. Russel felt the warmth radiate through him as he lingered on her a little longer.

            2D looked across the room at Cal, who was on her laptop typing away, having already designed and printed the flyers for the night, which she made Darren the Drug Guy pass out while he sold his weed, promising him a few free drinks on her tab. When he and Noodle had walked in earlier, Cal’s been on her computer and Murdoc was sitting on the end of the stage gently plucking at the bass, neither of them regarding the other. His lips rolled over each other in worry. Yes, he noticed that they’d spent a lot of time together. Murdoc had even spent the night at her place, but that seemed too familiar to what Murdoc had done in the past. He hadn’t noticed any kind of specific glance between them the way Russel and Letí shared, even before this conversation. It was very apparent that Russel was into Letí, and now it seemed that the feeling was mutual, and as happy as 2D was for this unexpected turn of events, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Murdoc had yet to say anything about how he felt for Cal. 2D knew he had to feel something – at least he wanted to believe. Murdoc never isolated himself with a female for so long a time, and yet they didn’t hold hands or show any physical interest in each other despite the kiss on the Ferris Wheel. He expected that that would have closed the deal and their PDA would be off-the-charts annoying.

            “I better check out the mic setup,” he said, less than enthused.

            “I’ll be back in a bit,” said Noodle, waving to Letí and Murdoc as she turned to head to the apartment.

            “I’ll be in the kitchen if y’all need me,” Russel announced, and Letí added that she’d join him before telling Murdoc that she liked the drink special menu.

            “Ey-o, Muds, want to help me with the stage equipment?” 2D offered, glancing towards Cal, deaf to their conversation due to the earbuds in her ears.

            Murdoc shrugged and followed 2D over, picking up the bass again. “You gonna give us a proper show tonight, Faceache?”

            “Russel thinks that migh’ be a bad idea, what with us being recognized and all,” he explained as he looked over the sound system. “He’s grown quite fond of this place.”

            “This place or its owner?” Murdoc chuckled, plucking along again.

             “I think they’d make a great pair, don’t you?”

             “They both exude similar soapbox tendencies.”

            2D switched some wires around. “I think it’s more.”

            Murdoc sat the bass in its stand and grabbed the wires out of 2D’s hand, plugging them into different ports. “Regardless, it’s foolish.”

            “How so?”

            “Time is our enemy. You remember that.”

             2D grabbed a mic stand and fitted one of the mics into it. “Is that really a proper excuse, though?”

            “It’s not an excuse, it’s truth.” Murdoc handed him another mic. “People don’t just fall in love or whatever bullshit you want to call it, drop what they’ve been doing, and settle down as such. And even if they did, there’s no guarantee the flames remain. Look at you, for instance. You’ve had many partners you’ve impregnated and left, with no inclination to give up this life for ’em.”

            2D narrowed an eye at him. “Those were failed relationships, Muds, both parties not inclined to change lifestyles for the other. It was very well communicated. And I make sure to pay my child support. This Casio watch has been a proper lifesaver.” He brought his wrist up and gave it a smile, and then continued, “But if two people genuinely love one another, you find a way to make it work, yeah? I mean, let’s say …” The confidence in his words shook as he cast a cautious stare at Murdoc. “… hypothetically, you and Cal decided to become a … a thing –”

            “I’m not giving up this band for any _thing_.”

            “You wouldn’t ’ave to. Cal’s a writer, she can write from anywhere.”

            Murdoc sighed in exasperation. “And you’re suggesting love is asking someone to absolutely uproot their life to accommodate your particular lifestyle? Who in their fucking right mind would do such an idiotic thing? Better to fuck and be done with it, I say. No complications.”

            2D shifted nervously and went back to untangling wires. “I bet Russ and Letí would find a way.”

            Murdoc laughed coldly. “You’re even dumber on the subject than I thought. Letí couldn’t leave this place. It would mean giving it up to someone else. You can’t manage a business like this from afar the way she’s attached to it.”

            Dropping the untangled wires, 2D stood tall and turned, casting Murdoc a sharp look. “I’m not saying it would be easy for them, Murdoc, but I am saying that _they’d_ find a way to make it work because they’re the type of people who ’ould. And I think that’s the purest kind of love. True love and complications go ’and in ’and.”

            Murdoc gave him a slow clap. “La-dee-fucking-da. Why are we even talking about this? I don’t give a fuck what Russ does or who he does or whatnot.”

            2D sighed. “I just think there’s ’ope for everyone is all. And they need to know it.”

            “Get on the fucking mic and shout it to the mountain tops, then.”

            “You’re standing right ’ere though.”

            Murdoc crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at 2D. “You ’ave a lot of opinions for someone who knows nothing about the situation, Stuart.”

            “I may ’ave these eyes, thank you, but I’m not blind, Muds.”

            “Could’ve fooled me.”

            2D turned back to the speaker system. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Cal hunch over the screen, the keys clicking incessantly under furious fingers, oblivious to everything around her. If he were Murdoc, he would have been sitting there across from her, infatuated with the passion she poured into her work, sipping on tea and creating lyrics to the melody of her typing. He would have stopped by to kiss her on the head, offer her a gentle squeeze around the shoulders, acknowledge her – _something_.

_But when has that ever been Murdoc?_

            He didn’t know if those were his own words or some distant wisdom from Noodle, but his shoulders slumped as he turned the speakers on, the sleepy system filling the room with a drowsy reverberation.

            “I need to test it,” muttered 2D in defeat. “Plug it in.” He gestured to the bass, and Murdoc, an eye on 2D, plugged the bass in. “Play a few chords, yeah.”

            Murdoc obliged, still watching 2D’s dimming excitement. In a way, he felt bad, knowing the man’s shift in demeanor was his doing. If there was one thing Murdoc was not used to seeing, it was 2D _not_ a vibrant ball of ecstatic energy onstage. The stage was his home, his safe place, just like it was for the rest of them. His fingers shifted gears and he started to play the baseline for “Feel Good, Inc.” 2D cast an instant smirk in his direction, and Murdoc’s lips curled in response.

            “That sounds pretty rad.”

            Murdoc stopped, and he and 2D looked to Cal, who sat turned in her booth, laptop closed, earbuds abandoned on top of it.

            “Thanks,” replied Murdoc. “I wrote it.”

            Cal nodded. “You guys gonna jam out tonight?”

            “We’ll see how the night progresses,” he said, looking to 2D. “This one’s a karaoke master, though. We may not need to.”

            “You gonna sing tonight, Cal?” asked 2D.

            She shrugged. “With a few drinks in me anything is possible.” She gave Murdoc a wink.

            Murdoc licked his lips and his fingers started plucking again.

            “Play something,” Cal told him, then laughed. “I fucking hate when people tell me to write them something, and here I am doing the same thing.”

            Murdoc smiled. “What should I play?”

            “I don’t know. What do you feel like playing? What’s something you think I’ll know?”

            Murdoc mulled over the questions for a moment, catching sight of the jukebox, then returned his gaze to her. “How about this?” He started to play a bassline while 2D, who beamed uncontrollably, continued to fiddle with equipment on the stage.

            Cal listened for a moment before a smile broke out across her face. “Yes, Niccals! ‘Brick in the Wall,’ Pink Floyd. That’s a good one. A great album, actually.”

            Murdoc nodded, his hands working along the bass. “I’m happy you actually know them.”

            “I can’t say I was alive when the album dropped but I’m definitely a fan.” She stood and walked towards the stage and took a seat on the end of it near where Murdoc stood.

            “Let me guess, this one’s your favorite?”

            “It’s a great song but it’s not my favorite off the album.”

            “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve said today.”

            She laughed. “It’s hard to pick one. It depends on my mood. A few minutes ago, when I was writing, if you would’ve asked me, I would have told you ‘Goodbye Blue Sky.’”

            Murdoc stopped, set the bass down in its stand and grabbed one of the acoustic guitars behind the speaker system.

            “You play guitar, too?”

            2D answered for him, “He’s really good, too, but prefers the bass. He’ll never be Noodle-level, though.”

            “I taught the girl all she knows.”

            “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Muds.”

            Murdoc rolled his eyes and began strumming the opening chords to “Goodbye Blue Sky.” 2D grabbed a stool and sat, watching as Murdoc’s hands worked, caught off guard as Cal quietly hummed along, singing the first set of lyrics with timid effort. She kept her head down, tapping her foot against the side of the stage. 2D would have jumped in to assist her if he’d known the words, but sat shocked when Murdoc – also coming off coy – joined in, his low tone carrying the lyrics into the brief chorus.

 _Murdoc – shy?_ 2D hadn’t thought him capable of the emotion, and while he was aware that Murdoc was critical over his own voice, he maintained an air of power to it whenever he was trying to get across to 2D a musical suggestion he had when they wrote together. In an odd way, Murdoc didn’t seem to be trying to impress Cal with his singing, but rather _assisting her_ , carrying her confidently through the lyrics while he played.

 _It’s there – right there_ , 2D mused, his eyes shifting between Cal and Murdoc, both not looking at each other. _It’s not a glance but something else. A connection._

            His thoughts were affirmed as he saw Murdoc glance down at Cal, a small smile across his face. He was far away, 2D knew, lost in the melody and the lyrics, suddenly at home. Involuntarily, 2D’s hands clasped together in front of his chest as a smile cemented onto Murdoc’s face. When Murdoc ended the song, Cal finally looked up at him and smirked, shaking her head.

            “I’m much better with booze,” she laughed. “At least I think I am.”

            Murdoc didn’t laugh. “I think it was brilliant.”

            “He’s right, Cal. The two of you are fantastic.”

            Cal looked away, her nose crinkled. She continued, “You know, Niccals, the more I think about it, it’s absolutely appropriate you know Pink Floyd.”

            “Because I’m old?”

            2D laughed.

            “Because The Wall is you,” she shot back.

            Murdoc sat the bass down and joined her on the edge of the stage, sniggering. “You think I’m Pink?”

            “I think you suffer from someone else’s war, yes. It fuels you, that fire you have inside, the one that comes through when you play. I mean, I haven’t seen you play before this but honestly, it wasn’t the skill that caught my attention right now. It was your face. Your expression. Body language. It all says so much.”

            “About the war inside me?” he teased, and she chuckled.

            “Yes, Pink, the terrible PTSD to which you’re chained. You’re a real P.O.W.”

            “‘Pow’?” 2D hated to interrupt, but he also hated being left out.

            Murdoc and Cal looked at him. “Prisoner of war, you ninny.”

            “Oh. But Murdoc’s never been enlisted.”

            Cal laughed gently. “It’s a figure of speech.”

            “Hey, D!” Russel called from across the bar, both he and Letí standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “I need some taste testing done.”

            2D jumped up. “And I’m the man to do it, Russ!” He skipped across the bar to them while Russel and Letí watched Cal and Murdoc, them staring back. Russel cocked an eyebrow at Murdoc and allowed 2D to pass before following him into the kitchen while Letí ran her tongue over her teeth at Cal. Cal glared at her.

            “I’ll bring you two a couple beers, huh?” Letí called.

            Murdoc stood and stepped up onto the stage. “Bloody fantastic, Letí. I’m parched from all the manual labor.”

            Before disappearing through the door, Letí quickly shoved her right index finger into a hole she created with her left hand. Cal flipped her off furiously as the closing kitchen door muted her laughter. At the entrance, the people who were sitting outside with their drinks walked in.

            “We heard some Floyd in here. Mind if that continues?”

            “I’m setting up for tonight, actually,” Murdoc told them over his shoulder.

            “We got the jukebox though,” Cal offered. “I’ll throw on some tunes.” She glanced back at Murdoc. “I got the perfect one, actually.”

            “Is there gonna be a show tonight?” one of the guys asked as he and his friends took a seat at a table in the center of the bar. “Haven’t seen anyone live here in ages.”

            “Karaoke, music, dancing, an array of drink specials,” Murdoc explained as he pulled the bass drum onto the stage. “All in the name of celebration.”

            The man chuckled. “Sounds like a good time. Cover charge?”

            “Nope. Just come ready to drink.”

            “We’re good at that.”

            Letí appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray with a few beers on it. “Oh, hey guys,” she greeted the men, who each tipped their beers at her.

            “Your man here was just telling us about the party tonight.”

            Letí stopped at the jukebox next to Cal and looked back at them. “Well yeah, that’s right. We’re trying something different.”

            “Said there’s gonna be entertainment, drink specials, dancing.”

            “The whole nine yards, man,” Cal interjected, taking a sip of her beer. “You’d be a fool not to show.”

            “I got some buddies coming into town today. You think we could get a table?”

            Letí beamed and produced a notepad from her back pocket. “What size, papí?” While Letí took down the information, Cal brought Murdoc his _two_ beers.

            “What’d you put on?” he asked, taking his beers from her.

            “Only the best bar song in the world to dance to,” she remarked, giving him a wink. “Well, the best two songs.”

            From the speakers, the impending melody of “Empty Spaces” by Pink Floyd sounded. Murdoc grinned.

            She grinned. “You see, right now, these are my two favorite Floyd songs.”

            “I envy the man you take as a husband, Cal.”

            She laughed. “Hey, who knows – maybe one day you’ll believe in marriage.” She nudged him with her elbow. The playful beat of “Young Lust” cut in, and Cal started to dance, holding tight to her beer as she took a sip, moving her hips to the guitar riffs.

            To his left, Murdoc heard one of the men comment that he hoped the dancing included “her,” meaning Cal. Inwardly, Murdoc hoped the same. He watched her, absently nodding his head to the beat as he held the pint glass just before his lips. His eyes followed every twist her body made, along the curve of her waist, down the treacherous fall of her thighs to her naked feet, and then back up again. She didn’t have the voice of an angel, but she carried a tune decently, a one-eighty in confidence before him as she sang along to the lyrics, fueled by the golden pint in her hand that sloshed about as she moved her arms with snake-like grace.

            Her voice was pleasant, her movement hypnotic, her writing inspiring – _holy fuck, this woman_.

            The pressure in his groin alerted him, and Murdoc wanted to slap himself. He was a grown man – why the fuck did he feel like some stupid teenager with his first nudie magazine?

 _Fuck you, Roger Waters._ He promised himself the next time he saw Roger he’d tell him just that. The thought trailed away as Cal reached out to him, tempting him with an invitation his body willingly accepted, though he carried two beers and couldn’t grab on. Then he realized she wanted to dance _with_ him, and the fear resurfaced. He laughed nervously and allowed her to back herself against him, swaying against his front while he awkwardly held out his beers. Once she realized he wasn’t following her lead, she turned and cradled her beer between them, staring up at him.

            “Looking for a good time, stranger?”

            “As long as you’re the dirty girl to show this newborn around.”

            Letí cleared her throat. “Hey guys, I hate to break up whatever this is,” she said, both Cal and Murdoc moving apart. “I’m all about being free spirited but you got an audience,” she added quietly, stepping onto the stage behind Cal.

            “Right. I’ll, just, uh, get back to it,” said Murdoc, and he turned, pounding one of his beers as he made his way towards the half-assembled drum set.

            Letí looked at Cal. “Mhmmm,” she hummed. “Te dije que este viejito quiere follarte.”

            Cal gritted her teeth. “ _Él habla español!_ ”

            Over his shoulder, Murdoc chimed, “Ambos tienen razón.” He chuckled deviously.

            Letí’s eyebrows climbed high on her forehead. “… the fuck?”

            Cal shook her head. “I’m gonna stash my laptop and change. I’ll be back to help Noodle.” She gave Letí a pat on the cheek as her friend stared in disbelief at Murdoc’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I feel like it's been years since I've updated, but here it is - Chapter Nine! With it comes a very happy announcement: my dear friend Robin has graciously volunteered to edit this chapter and the rest of the story for me, so everything should be a bit more polished and sane as we progress :D She's also an extremely talented writer, so if you're into the Naruto fandom or just want a great read, check out her stories on fanfiction.net. Her handle is Tridacnagigas :]
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this update and the next will be out a lot sooner. Take care, all! <3
> 
> Chapter Nine Playlist:  
> "Rhubarb" - Aphex Twins (on repeat - I'm obsessed)  
> "Silent Lucidity" - Queensryche  
> "If I Close My Eyes Forever" - Lita Ford and Ozzy Osbourne  
> "Jesus Alone" - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds  
> "Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)" - Pink Floyd  
> "Goodbye Blue Sky" - Pink Floyd  
> "Empty Spaces" - Pink Floyd  
> "Young Lust" - Pink Floyd (I really love Pink Floyd, if you couldn't tell, lol)


	10. Chapter 10

In the shuffle of setting up the bar and running to and from the apartment to shower and change into more presentable clothing, Murdoc lost Cal. He stood in the doorway of his room debating on whether or not to text her to ask if he should meet her at La fénix, or if he should go to her place and walk over with her. 2D and Noodle had come and gone from the apartment, and Russel was still in his room primping, as he so lovely announced to Murdoc. Murdoc could smell his cologne in the hallway. It was bold but not unpleasant, and it was expensive – one he only ever wore on special occasions. Phone dangling in his hand, Murdoc padded to Russel’s room and leaned against the doorframe.

Russel was doing up the last button on a caramel and white floral shirt, his dark wash jeans ironed and creased, his suede work boots looking fresh out of the box. A muted brown cap hid his bare scalp.

“My, my, you’re certainly Cinderella headed to the ball, aren’t you?”

Straightening his collar, Russel’s reflection in the mirror smiled darkly at Murdoc. “Talk all the shit you want, Muds. Ain’t nothing gonna kill my mood tonight.” Smoothing out his shirt, he turned around. “I feel good, I look good, and I keep good company. Nothing’s tearing me down, especially _your_ bullshit.”

Murdoc grimaced. “Take a fucking compliment much?”

“Compliment from you? _Ha_! You think I’m stupid.”

“Right now, yes.”

Russel shook his head. “Fine. We’ll go with you being nice in your own asshole way because I’m much too happy to consider otherwise.”

“Thank you,” returned Murdoc acidly.

“You waitin’ on someone?” Russel grinned at the phone in Murdoc’s hand. Murdoc eyed it and then shoved it into his back pocket. “Maybe someone’s waitin’ on you?”

Murdoc shrugged. “What, I can’t hold a phone without an inquisition?”

Russel pursed his lips. “Can’t you have a normal conversation without feeling persecuted?” He sighed. “I’m wasting my time.” He sauntered past Murdoc into the living room. “Some advice – _not_ because I care or anything, but if you really wanna keep Cal around, you better let her know it’s worth her time and energy by not throwing out so much negativity all the damn time. Believe it or not, you’re actually surrounded by _good_ people, Muds. The best. When’re you gonna let that other shit go and start livin’ in the now? Because right now, we’re having a good time and you’d have a good time too if you’d try.”

He gripped the knob of the front door and paused, looking back at Murdoc. “I know you have it in you. If you hadn’t followed through to some extent a few months ago, we wouldn’t be here right now and I never woulda met Letí. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

Murdoc nodded.

“Cal’s a cool chick. She deserves someone who’ll remind her of that.”

“Not necessarily my choice of words, but I agree, Russ.”

“Maybe it’s time you start giving us all your choice of words on topics like these. Maybe do something about it. Sure, this whole party thing may seem like a ploy to get drunk and have a good time, but it’s more than that. It’s showing Letí another side of me, my interests, most of which align with hers so that maybe she’ll see all that we have in common. And maybe that’ll become more.”

“Don’t you think that’s entirely idiotic?”

“Idiotic to pursue a possibility? It’d be idiotic not to.”

“But we’ll be gone in a couple weeks. Do you really think it wise to try to force something to happen?”

“I ain’t forcing anything. I’m holding hands with fate and seeing what becomes of this situation. I’m too old to be sitting around wishing, Muds. I either make shit happen or I don’t. If it don’t work, it don’t matter. We’ll be gone. But if a real connection happens between Letí and me before we leave, then when we get to that point, we figure it out. It ain’t rocket science, it’s real life. That’s how anything goes. Maybe if you adopted that way of thinking, you and Cal would be something more by now. She’s into you, ya know. I wouldn’t expect you to see that, though, you’re so damn concerned about us leaving. The now, Murdoc, live in the _now_. You’re missing everything otherwise, and I think you’ve missed enough in your lifetime.” Russel pulled the door open. “You coming or not?”

Murdoc hesitated, trying to find the words to contest him, but couldn’t. Russel had won. Of course Murdoc was excited for the party. There’d be booze and plenty of opportunities for him to watch 2D make a fool of himself, but more importantly, Cal would be there with him to drink, to laugh and to hopefully dance. He wouldn’t show Russel his excitement but instead nodded and followed Russel out the door. He decided while staring out the back window of the cab at the blaze of color that bled out from the horizon ahead of them that he’d go directly to the bar with Russel to meet Cal there, much like they had when they were in Stoke. He wondered if she’d already be there, standing at the bar chatting away while sloshing her drink about, or if she’d catch him already starting on his first drink.

His stomach tightened as he pondered what she might be wearing, if her hair would be up or down, if she’d ask him to dance or if she’d sit by him all night to joke around and laugh. Maybe when the noise became too much they’d take a walk along the sand to listen to the waves crash on the shore, and maybe she’d grow cold and he’d have to pull her close to him, and maybe she’d wrap her arms around him and kiss him … maybe he’d simply kiss her. The ideas that rushed through his brain like cars along a congested highway might’ve given him a headache in another situation, but right now, Murdoc felt more alive than ever, ready to receive whatever the evening held. _Maybe for once this’ll go my way._

_Maybe_.

“How terrible was it shitting out that Scottish Terrier?”

The chuckle escaped Murdoc’s lips, causing Russel to laugh heartily next to him. “Honestly, I don’t fucking remember, mate. That week was an endless cycle of drunken antics accompanied by the worst set of hangovers. I either shat it out or chucked it, but I can’t recall which way it passed. My body hurt all over.”

“You are some kinda crazy, Muds.”

“A bit foolish, yeah.”

“More than a bit.” Russel stared out his window. “It’s made life interesting, though. Gorillaz has been the most exciting thing in my life, be it for better or worse.”

“And now there’s Letí.”

Russel snapped back around to him. “So?”

“So … well come now, if you two do become something more, won’t you want to pursue the more exciting option?”

“You think I’m gonna leave the band?”

“How else do you do it? I’m sure she’d want you to. Or you’d want her to leave La fénix. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“The point is you make it work. If you truly love one another, you don’t pull each other away from your passions. You build ’em up, encourage ’em. You find a way to both be happy. It’s not that hard, Muds.”

“It’s not so simple, either.”

“When has life ever been simple for any of us?” Russel turned back to the window. “Gorillaz is my life, Murdoc. I wouldn’t give it up, but I’ll share it if someone wants it.”

“Just seems like a lot of mess for a gamble.”

“You gambled on 2D’s voice before knowing if the kid could sing. You gambled on me not kicking the shit outta you when you kidnapped me. You gambled on the ad that led us to Noodle. You gambled on leaving your jacket in a cab back in Stoke. Yeah, I know she still has your jacket, Muds.” Russel’s hazy reflection in the cab window smirked at him. “What I’m trying to say is of all the people I know, you’ve gambled the most and it’s worked in your favor. It weirds me out that right now you’re trying to shade everything as black or white, when that’s not you at all. Give yourself a break – play in the gray for a moment. You need it.”

The cab pulled up to the curb on the east side of the strand. Russel tipped the driver and opened the door.

“Alright, shithead, you coming?”

Murdoc rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“Then let’s roll. We have some fine people to celebrate – _us_.”

Walking up to La fénix, Murdoc and Russel had to thread between the throngs of people gathered outside. “Strobelight” thudded from the open front windows. Russel and Murdoc eyed each other.

“I guess 2D’s letting the cat outta the bag.”

“Goddammit, I wanted to see how long it’d take Cal to realize we’re Gorillaz,” Murdoc sulked as they pushed their way into the bar. The entire place was packed, the dancefloor crowded while 2D and Noodle danced onstage, 2D hanging close to the DJ equipment. A large, gaudy crown sat on his head. Above the dancefloor rotated a large disco ball; blue, green and red streamers connected it to the ceiling in twirled, low-hanging swoops.

Near the dancefloor, Russel and Murdoc saw Letí waving energetically towards them.

“C’mon, Muds.”

As they neared her, they noticed that a large table was roped off. Murdoc’s stomach dropped. _Oh shit_ , he panicked. _They must know who we are now … they’ve got a bloody velvet rope and everything_.

“Ven, papís,” Letí ushered them, presenting the space to them with open arms. It was decorated with more streamers and tiny silver and gold birthday cake-shaped confetti. “The last of the guests of honor have arrived.”

“Letí, this place is poppin’,” remarked Russel as he took a seat next to her. “Please tell me you’re going to enjoy this entertainment with us.”

She nodded. “I told Carlito to take over tonight. I wanted to celebrate.”

Murdoc sat on Russel’s other side. He glanced around for Cal but didn’t see her. Pulling out his phone, he swiped at the screen but before he could find her contact information, two arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind.

“I hope you were looking for me, Aloof Bassist,” Cal whispered into his ear.

The smile spread broadly across his face as Murdoc watched her walk around. She stopped before him, gaze heavy-lidded under dark eyeshadow and matte plum lipstick on her lips. To his left, Letí produced a large gold crown, complete with faux gems. She placed it on Russel’s head with faux solemnity.

“You all get birthday crowns,” she declaimed, Russel beaming up at her from his stool.

To Cal, Murdoc said, “So I get a crown, do I?”

“As if his head could get any bigger,” Russel teased.

“Nothing in the store read as Murdoc to me, so I went with these,” explained Cal as she pulled a black headband from the back pocket of her jeans, two blinking red horns attached to it. They all chuckled as Cal placed the horns on his head.  

“This is quite the crown to be burdened with.”

Cal, who remained over him as she bit her lip, replied quieter for him, “Great power, great responsibility. Use it wisely, un-birthday boy.”

He slapped his palm on the table. “Well now, for my first order of business, I demand a round of drinks for the table.”

Russel sighed. “Shit went straight to his head.”

“Yeah, Noodle did mention that to us while we were at the store,” said Letí. She motioned towards the bar. “Hey, master and commander of the NetherRealm, I’ve got a guy on the table for the rest of the night. You better treat him _nicely_ , if you get my drift. Remember, this is the first time we’ve done this here.”

“Nicely? I’m the very definition of _nice_ , Letí,” countered Murdoc as the waiter approached the table. Murdoc looked him over. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Adrian,” he replied, taken aback by the question.

“You’re in fit shape, Adrian. But do you think you’re ready for what this night entails?”

He shrugged. “Uh, I mean, Letí told me to bring drinks and food to the table whenever you’re ready to order.”

“Drinks, food, dru –”

“No drugs.” Letí cocked a perfectly arched eyebrow at Murdoc.

Murdoc pursed his lips. “Fine, no drugs, but you’ll be expected to –”

“Murdoc, his only chore here tonight is bringing the table drinks and food as you order. Nothing extra – or illegal.”

“What kinda place is this?”

“The kinda place that’ll kick your prima donna ass out if you even think about mistreating my staff.”

“This is best gift I could ever ask for,” chimed Russel as he and Cal looked between Murdoc and Letí.

Murdoc crossed his arms. “ _Fine_. Just grab everyone what they want, and I’ll have a glass of Glenlivet and a Cuba Libre to start – but I’m warning you, I hope you’ve got your big boy shoes on because you’re gonna be running tonight, kid. Like, marathon status running.” Adrian hastily took down the order and disappeared into the crowd.

“You better give him the biggest tip, Murdoc,” groaned Letí.

“I don’t tip men, Letí,” remarked Murdoc as he sat back on the seat. “Men already have the world at their entitled fingertips. It’s a step backwards in the name of feminism, I say.”

Letí thrust her hand out at Russel. “Please dance with me before I murder this man.”

“That would be the cherry on my un-birthday cake,” Russel chuckled. He glanced at Murdoc. “You’re lucky she’s who she is, Muds, or you’d be so dead right now.”

Murdoc rolled his eyes. “Go dance.” He waved them away.

Cal watched Russel and Letí head out to the dance floor, shaking her head. “Goddamn, you’re such a dick.”

He shrugged. “Nothing new, is it?”

She laughed, her hands enclosing around his. “Should I be your entertainment for tonight?”

He straightened up. “Well now, will this include me having to find a spot to grab some dollar bills?”

“ _Dollar_ bills?” She retracted her hands.

“ _Millions_ of dollar bills,” he corrected, taking her hands back. “An unspeakable amount to compensate for that which will transpire unspeakably between us.”

Cal took her drink and Murdoc’s Glenlivet from the tray Adrian set on the table and handed Murdoc the whiskey. “So you’re the quiet type, then?”

“Did I say ‘unspeakably’? Because I meant boisterously.”

They clanked glasses and each took a long swallow. Setting her glass down, Cal continued, “You know, it is your un-birthday. I could give you a break and gift you some entertainment.”

“You’re absolutely generous.”

The warmth of the booze crept under her skin. “Wanna dance?”

Murdoc patted his glass. “Lemme get a little toasty first.”

“Fair enough – but don’t think I’m gonna let you off the hook. No grumpy old man complaining about the volume of the music business.” She downed the rest of her drink and gave him a sardonic curtsey. Grinning, Murdoc put the Glenlivet to his lips as his eyes followed her onto the dance floor where Russel, Letí and now Noodle were, 2D dancing along the stage as he sang a karaoke version of “Go West” by Pet Shop Boys. Around the group, the dance floor bustled with dancers, Noodle accepting invitations to dance while Letí and Cal danced with Russel. As the song came to a close, 2D started clapping, the pounding of his hands reverberating throughout the space. Others followed suit.

“How’re we doin’ tonight, La fénix?” 2D’s voice boomed over the crowd. People hollered and clapped in response. “The beautiful Letí’s thrown me and my mates a wicked birthday bash tonight, and we’re so thrilled you can join us!” The applause and cheers roared again. “This party’s an interactive one, so be sure to put in for your karaoke requests – no experience needed. I mean look at me, a simple man from Crawley, no musical experience whatsoever, fueled by drink specials and the need to ’ave a rockin’ time!”

Letí, Cal, Noodle and Russel looked between each other and laughed.

“So anyway, let’s get the music goin’ again with, uh –” 2D grabbed a torn piece of paper from a red bowl on one of the speakers, “Missy Heart Heart X O…” He swallowed hard. “Right, Missy, you’re up! Everyone else, get you some drinks, get on up ’ere and dance, and be sure to wish my mates Merlin,” – he pointed across the dancefloor to Murdoc, who sat up in confusion – “and Rudolfo,” – he held out a hand to Russel on the dancefloor – “a happy birthday! And I’m Steve.”

Missy approached the stage and 2D guardedly handed her the mic, covering his neck with his other hand, and hopping down to the dancefloor where the rest of the group stood.

“Rudolfo?” remarked Russel as 2D threw an arm around him.

“We need codenames just in case.” 2D gave him a toothy grin. “C’mon, let’s grab some drinks.”

They approached the table where Murdoc sat with four empty glasses sitting before him. He cocked an eyebrow at 2D.

“Where the bloody hell did you come up with Merlin, _Steve_?”

“It’s quite simple,” replied 2D as he pulled up a stool across from Murdoc, “ _Mer_ lin, _Mur_ doc. _Ru_ ssel, _Ru_ dolfo.”

“And Steve?” said Noodle.

“Well, I’ve always thought if I could change my name I could pull off Steve.”

“And what’s my codename?”

“We didn’t miss your birthday, Noodle, so I didn’t give you one, but maybe you can be …” He scratched his head in thought, knocking his crown slightly askew. “ _Noo, Noo, Noooooo_ … hmm. That’s a hard one, actually.”

“Don’t think too hard, you’ll ’urt yourself,” said Murdoc. “How about a drink though? My treat.” He turned and waved down Adrian. “Well now, there’s no pausing in marathons, kid. Up and at ’em!”

The group indulged in a round of Cuba Libres, actively avoiding the dancefloor as Missy screeched a pointed version of Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in a Bottle” in 2D’s direction while the man wedged himself between Noodle and Letí. At the final moments of the song, Noodle pushed 2D back towards the stage so that he could reclaim the mic, again, evasive in his maneuvers, until at last he could announce the next person up to sing.

The night continued like this for a while, Murdoc watching the party as it played out before his eyes like a movie: shit singing to even more shit music, the crowd dancing in currents of talent and clumsiness, members of his group coming and going from the table. With every Cuba Libre his limbs grew heavier, his voice more unfamiliar as he conversed with those who joined him at the table. At one point, a couple of younger women asked him for his autograph, which he signed in clumsy scribble on his cocktail napkin, adding a quick, “Don’t tell Cal” as they returned into the crowd. Thankfully, Cal was out on the dancefloor, one of the few people caught between talent and clumsiness. He knew most of her clumsiness came from the glass of Southern Comfort and Coke she held tight to as she moved to the music with Noodle, who was also a bit sloshed.

His lips curled. It certainly was a sight to see, the girl he was interested in dancing with the girl he’d helped raise (the latter phrase used lightly, he noted). _If Noodle likes her she must be gold_ , he mused, setting his drink down as he moved forward on the seat. Suddenly, Adrian appeared with a tray of glasses filled with clear liquid.

“Vodka – I like your style, mate.”

“It’s actually water, man.”

Murdoc grimaced and waved him away, returning his gaze towards Noodle and Cal. They were laughing about something – maybe the noisy rap music that made everyone bob like buoys in a furious sea, or the fact that 2D was attempting a twerk-off with a girl nearby, or maybe because they were genuinely enjoying the evening. Whatever the case, Murdoc felt the excitement that radiated off them, infected by some external vigor to smile.

“Hey, Merlin!”

Murdoc turned only because the call over the music was close to his ear. A busty blond in a tube top and jeans that strangled her curves leaned over him. Looking her up and down, he was sure he was going to fall into her cleavage at any moment.

“Happy birthday! Think I can steal you away for a little birthday dance?”

Murdoc finally found her face. Her round features shined under the disco lights, glittery lip gloss encasing her pouty lips in an inviting glaze. Strangely, the longer he stared at her enticing face, the more he realized he had no idea who she was.

“Love, you’re an absolute looker,” he called to her. “A real temptress of sorts. Something I’d love to lick birthday cake off of, actually. But,” and he glanced back at the dancefloor where Cal danced, her smile peering out as her hair whipped about with every move she made to the beat, oblivious to his interactions, “I’m having a good time watching.”

The blond shrugged and moved into the crowd, Murdoc not looking after her. Instead, his eyes lingered on Cal as the music ended and 2D’s voice broke his concentration.

“This one’s for all the lovers out there – whether you know it or not. Grab a partner!” He added, “Sorry Missy, I’m with Noodle on this one.” He paused and quickly continued, “Completely platonic, her and me, but I’m still very unavailable, Missy, sorry.”

The soft rhythm of “I’m Not in Love” by 10cc rolled out from the speakers, and Murdoc grew stiff, his eyes darting in 2D’s direction. Beneath the heavy glow of the stage lights and despite the space and people between them, he was sure 2D was smirking at him. As if on cue, everyone on the dancefloor coupled off, Cal moving between them as she approached the table. She gave him a smirk, Murdoc nervously prepared for her to ask him to dance. Instead, she plopped down on the seat next to him and grabbed one of the glasses of water.

“It’s fucking crazy out there.”

Murdoc watched her as she drank, immediately chasing the water with the remaining beer from a lone glass on their table.

“You didn’t ask me to dance.”

She eyed him and shrugged. “I’m not gonna bother you, it’s your night. If you wanna chill, Niccals, do it.” She bit her lip. “I still got a trick or two up my sleeves though.”

“Funny, you aren’t wearing sleeves.” He noticed the glistening of sweat along her arms and around the neckline of the loose muscle tank she wore, a large skull adorned with roses decorating the front of it. Her black jeans were ripped at the knees, the faded material falling into the tops of her motorcycle style boots. Her bangs clung to the sweat on her forehead, her eyeshadow a bit smudged. The figure of the blond was gone from his mind. In its place were Russel’s words: _I either make shit happen or I don’t._

_What do you want to happen, Niccals?_

_No fucking clue. But it’s worth a try. Maybe for once this’ll go my way – **maybe**_.

Murdoc took hold of Cal’s hand, much to her confusion.

“What’s this?”

Murdoc shrugged. “Maybe have a dance, huh? Unless you’re tired.”

Cal jumped up, squeezing his hand. “I’m not tired at all.” She smiled up at him, though he knew the liquor was also weighing on her.

He grinned, leading her out to the dancefloor and with more assurance this time around, Murdoc stepped in front of her, interlocking his fingers around hers while his other arm wrapped around her. She draped her other arm around his shoulder, their bodies close, and they swayed silently to the song.

“This is pretty fucking stupid, huh?” she chuckled after a bit, looking away from him. He could smell the sweetness of liquor on her breath.

“Well, kind of,” he remarked, relishing the heat of her body against his. “But it’s not as stupid with you.”

“I knew it, Niccals,” she said in mock lamentation, “You’re a big old softie. A real romantic. You’re probably falling in love with me right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yep.”

“Exactly in this moment?”

“Exactly.”

“How do ya figure?”

“The tightness of your hand around mine, the fact that _you_ asked _me_ to dance this time, the fact that I can feel your dick.”

Murdoc chuckled. “How do you know that’s not the front of my trousers?”

Cal leaned in closer to him, her eyelids heavy, her lips curled. “If it is, then you’ve got some hard fucking trousers, Niccals.”

He couldn’t say anything. His mouth remained curved, his eyes locked onto hers as though they were in some unspoken staring contest. He released her hand and wrapped it around her, embracing her tightly as she submitted and laid her head against his chest. She breathed heavily, tickling the exposed skin above the neckline of his shirt. Whether she was doing so to steady herself because she was tipsy or inhaling him, he didn’t know, but it brought a peace over him unlike any other. Lost in the warmth of her embrace, he hardly noticed when the song ended and 2D’s voice carried over the dancefloor.

“Alright, we’ve got a very special song for you now!”

Murdoc and Cal released each other and turned to the stage with everyone else.

“I’ve a very dear friend who’d like to dedicate this next song to one of us lucky birthday boys.” 2D pointed over the crowd. “Cal – you’re up!”

Murdoc eyed Cal, who stuck her tongue out at him, and she made her way through the crowd and stepped up onto the stage. A very enthusiastic catcall from Letí broke the silence, sending Cal and a few other into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” said Cal over the crowd. “Like 2D – er, I mean, Steve said, I’m doing a special song for my friend who’s probably in panic mode right now, but not really because he’s totally into being the center of attention no matter how hard he tries to deny it. He thinks he’s hiding but I see him.” She smiled broadly at Murdoc, who rolled his eyes as he shook his head.

“You’re a bloody mess, ya know that?” he called to her.

“I am a fucking mess right now, and this is probably _never_ going to happen again so Mur – er, Merlin – _fucking Murdoc_ – this is for you. Happy birthday, you asshole.”

The hum of organs filled the room, Murdoc standing in the center of the dancefloor in absolute befuddlement, when suddenly she sang out the first lyric, and Murdoc immediately laughed.

“You’re serious? Madonna?”

She didn’t answer him but continued to sing “Like a Prayer,” clutching the mic, but any fear he thought she had dissipated as the drum beats kicked in, Cal working the stage as she clapped against the mic, people around the bar following suit. Letí, Noodle and Russel rushed to the front, clapping and dancing. Around him, others did the same, but Murdoc remained in place. No, she didn’t hit every note, and no, the balance between talent and clumsy was weighing more on the latter side due to her intoxication, but she held a stage presence that he didn’t know she possessed.

In the second verse, 2D joined her onstage, providing the hum of the choir and aiding her with the choruses, both of their energies rising as the song progressed. Just before the bridge, Cal jumped from the stage into the crowd, singing passionately into the mic as she made her way towards Murdoc who stood out amongst the excitement for his stillness. She went onto her knees before him, whipping her hair about as she sang, 2D still the acting choir onstage. She grabbed onto his leg and pulled herself up, pausing while 2D sang, and then pulled her top over her head. Murdoc didn’t have time to do anything before she tossed it at his face. He ripped it away, mouth agape as she turned away in her strappy bralette, rushing back to the stage to finish out the song.

_Oh shit_.

She danced onstage, the bar in a drunken frenzy, while Murdoc remained in place, conflict tearing at him. Like a cruel joke, the buzz of the evening left him, his mind racing over the woman singing and dancing for him to a musician he’d told her he fancied in a bar thousands of miles away. Murdoc had no idea how the universe could have placed her there at The Pig in that moment, the same moment that he’d made his way through the drizzle of Stoke in an air of depression, ready to fade into the dilapidated darkness. And yet, there she was under the muted pub glow, the blazoned exclamation point of life he didn’t know he wanted … or needed. Even now, she shined brighter than the tacky disco ball that revolved above them all.

This was it. Murdoc had come to the impasse he’d hoped to avoid by discovering some unforgivable flaw about her, or by her discovering all _his_ unforgivable flaws, or by someone else getting involved with one of them. He couldn’t deny the way she made him feel, nor the leash she’d effortlessly clasped around his throat. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself that this wasn’t him, this wasn’t who wanted to become, the anxiety of his feelings was anything but unpleasant. In fact, as he gripped her sweaty shirt in his hand, he felt like the luckiest motherfucker in the room.        

_She’s into you, ya know._

_Holy fuck, she may bloody well be._

Cal bowed, 2D showcasing her with extended arms, and then stood tall, handing him the mic.

“Absolutely fantastic, Cal!” 2D clapped. “Now I’ve got a hit for you from a musician close to my heart. Something to carry on the mood. I hope you enjoy.”

Cal made her way off the stage, receiving high-fives and pats as she did, and headed towards Murdoc. She stopped before him, grinning, until she realized he wasn’t. She licked her lips and shrugged, trying to maintain her smile as he stared at her with serious intent.

“It wasn’t Madonna status but –”

“It was brilliant,” he interrupted, the low notes of “Father Figure” by George Michael starting up. “You really know how to get a crowd going.”

She laughed nervously. “I think it was mostly the shirt coming off that had their attention.”

“It had mine.”

She nodded.

“Listen, Cal, can I speak with you in private?”

Her smile disappeared. “Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, just need a smoke.”

Murdoc led her outside, across the strand and onto the edge of the sand. He stared out into the moon-shattered darkness of the ocean, and pulled the blinking horns from his head.

“The air feels nice.” Cal stopped next to him, gazing out at the water.

“It’s not too cold, is it?” He eyed her bare shoulders, proffering the discarded shirt he still clasped.

She shook her head.

“You left my jacket at your place, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I knew what kind of shenanigans I was getting myself into tonight.”

“Honestly, I didn’t.”

“That was the point, Niccals.”

“It’s more than that, really.”

She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

Murdoc swallowed hard. “I mean … I’m really glad I left my jacket in that cab back in Manchester.”

A small smile returned to Cal’s face. “Me too, Niccals. Me too.”

“This is seriously a night for the books, Cal. A nice one.”

“I’m glad. I don’t make a fool outta myself for just anyone, ya know.” She playfully tapped his bicep with her fist. Before she could retract it, Murdoc took her hand and pulled her to him, pressing his lips over hers. Cal threw her arms around his neck and he picked her up, kissing her passionately as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Cal pulled her mouth from his. “Should we have sex?”

“Y-yeah, I think we should,” he breathed into her neck.

“Promise me it won’t get weird.” Her grip tightened around the back of his neck.

“Like kinky-weird?”

“No, like between us. I really fucking like you, Murdoc.”

Murdoc paused and looked her in the eye. He kissed her again, letting that be the answer he couldn’t force into words, his body trembling with excitement over her reciprocation of his enthusiasm. He drew back after a minute, pained by the tightness of his jeans and the need to be somewhere private.

“Should we go to your place?”

Cal nodded. “Quick, before they catch us!” She seized his hand and led him the strand, both of them kissing each other and breaking away to move around the people walking and jogging along.

Upon arriving at her gate, Cal’s feet left the ground as Murdoc picked her up over his shoulder, Cal bursting into laughter as she hung upside-down. She fumbled for her keys in her pocket and dangled them next to his head. Snatching them, Murdoc clumsily unlocked the door, slammed it shut with his heel after they crossed the threshold, and proceeded to her bed. Without a second thought, Murdoc tossed Cal onto it and crawled over her, Cal both giggling from the ride and stimulated by his aggression.

She lifted her head to meet his mouth and gripped the back of his neck to bring him down on top of her. Grinning into the kiss, Murdoc startled a gasp out of her as he rolled them over. She straddled him for a moment, eyes calculating, and then proceeded to back off of him, coming to her feet at the end of the bed. Murdoc propped himself up on his elbows as she pulled off her boots. Then, she unzipped her jeans and let them puddle to the floor, standing before him in the bralette and striped panties.

She beckoned him forward with a finger, but when Murdoc sat up and scooted to the end of the bed, Cal slid onto his lap and kissed him hard, arching herself against his still-clothed front. Her fingers trailed heat down the front of his shirt as he reciprocated, and then she took hold of the hem and yanked it up over his head, breaking the kiss and nearly taking his necklace with it. Her hands traced his shoulders, then slid a thumb along his jaw-line and down the curve of his neck, finally dragging don the length of his taut arms and guiding his hands over her hips. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, the small, sharp breaths she took exciting him while his eyes remained on hers.

Cal moved her mouth next to his face, nipped at his earlobe and then whispered, “We can do this however you want.”

“Is that so?”

She took his head in her hands. “I don’t usually play nice.”

He merely chuckled.

She released him and pulled the bralette over her head, tossing it behind her. Murdoc refused to look at her breasts, sensing the challenge in her eyes. Instead, he gripped the back of her head, carefully pulling her hair so that her head tipped back, and ran his teeth along her neck, nipping at her skin the way she had with his earlobe. She gasped with every amount of pressure he applied, her fingers wrapping around his elbows, steadying herself on his lap as he moved his mouth down her chest. With his free hand, he squeezed her breast and ran his tongue over her nipple, relishing the feeling of her skin against his. Cal gasped, gripping his hair within locked fingers. Giving her a shallow bite, he broke away and kissed her mouth again, pulling her with him as he laid back.

He fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans, bucking out of them while Cal moved to his side and kept his mouth busy, her hand running down his torso in the process. His erection stood tall behind his boxer briefs, her hand passing over it along the fabric. Murdoc’s entire body tingled at the touch. She palmed his bulge and he gasped, breaking contact, allowing Cal to slide out of her panties. As she returned to his side and propped her head up on her arm, Murdoc couldn’t help himself; he took a moment to run his eyes along the length of her body, taking in every random freckle, the rise and fall of a curve, the perkiness of her breasts, the dimple in her cheek highlighting the inebriated smirk on her face.

She sat up and pushed his boxers down, climbing on top of him and sliding herself down onto his length. They both exhaled sharply with this new friction, the delicious heat of her surrounding him almost made him lose it. Murdoc ran his hands over her breasts, tugging at her nipples while rolled her hips into his, finding a rhythm. She pinned one of his wrists to the bed over his head and used the other hand to stroke the line of his jaw, fingers rasping over his stubble. He was caught between wanting to let her enjoy the ride and do as she pleased with him, and taking charge of the situation entirely. While drunk Cal was sexy and knew what she was doing, Murdoc could only image what sober Cal was like without the booze weighing her down.

He was caught off guard when the gentle caress of her hand turned into a careful squeeze around his neck. His breath caught in his throat as he realized what she meant about not playing nice. He also realized they hadn’t established a safe word, but the electricity arcing between them and the extra work it took for him to breathe excited him, and he let it be.

It was only when the impending buildup of the moment gripped him that he lifted his free hand to her face and ran his fingers along her cheek. The pressure of her hands around his neck and wrist lessened; she was growing tired and nearing the same point as he. He sat up, keeping her in his lap as she moved against him, her breath haggard and her moans louder. There was so much more he wanted to do to her, especially now that he’d had a taste of what she was into – so many positions he wanted to have her in – but for the moment, all he wanted to know was what her expression looked like when she came.

Cal tipped her head back, the rush of pleasure escaping her lips in a near-scream, her eyes closed tight. She felt his hand on the side of her face, his thumb moving across her lips until he slipped it inside. She closed her mouth around it, running her tongue around his nail and fighting the urge to sink her teeth into the meat of it as her body began to collapse against him. He pulled out just in time, leaving her body suddenly bereft. He groaned into her neck and wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly as he finished on their stomachs. She opened her eyes and he kissed her mouth and down her neck, the saltiness of her perspiration overwhelming his tongue. Cal gave him a grin, her forehead against his, and traced her fingers along the curve of his lips.

“The seal’s broken.”

“That wasn’t a metaphor for some virginal mechanism you somehow possess, was it? Because that’d be a waste. I’m more much colorful than that.”

“No, silly. Our peripeteia. Pandora’s Box. We opened that shit.”

“And …?”

She gave him a thumb’s up. Murdoc chuckled.

“That’s a first.”

“You get the highest rating on Yelp, amigo.”

“You’re obviously pissed.”

“But I managed to stay awake.”

“True. A+ for you, love. Really. Was quite fun.”

Those weren’t the words he wanted to say but he couldn’t think of anything else. She’d left him in an awkward place, somewhere between serious and playful, and though he’d been in this situation with many other women, the build up to the sex had been brief and shallow, without thought, so it didn’t bother him when his partner would say such silly things post-sex. But here, it wasn’t the case. Despite the intoxicated humor Cal offered him as she lay nestled against his neck, he couldn’t find the joke. He didn’t want to rate her. He didn’t want to go back to the bar. He didn’t want her to dress or to fall asleep and forget everything that had transpired between them.

More than anything, he didn’t want to endure the fear that was welling up inside him. What he wanted to say to her was something honest, something he’d never felt before. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and fuck her – no, not _fuck_ , even if it turned into something aggressive. He wanted something he didn’t believe in, something people found hope in, in stupid movies and books and songs. He wanted to be there with her for as long as she’d have him … and that terrified him.

The warmth left him as she stood, his eyes lingering on her bare body as she grabbed a damp washcloth from the bathroom with an unsteady gait, her lips curled and color of her cheeks vibrant. Whether it was honest or the booze, he didn’t know, and while most of him believed it was the booze, a small part of him hoped it was honest, which added to that growing fear.

“We should get back,” she remarked, offering him another washcloth and still grinning at her previous words.

“You sure?”

She stopped in the middle of picking through their discarded clothes and looked at him. “You don’t want to?”

Murdoc shrugged. “We’re already here.”

Her smirk broadened. “Oh, sweet Prince Greenleaf, I knew you were into a lot of things, but I didn’t think cuddling was one of them.”

“How the bloody hell did you get cuddling from ‘we’re already here’?”

“I can see it in your eyes, you love to cuddle.” She let the jeans fall to the floor again and walked back to him, clad only in the panties she managed to retrieve. Gripping him around the shoulders, she pulled him back onto the mattress with awkward fervor.

“Oy, fuck, what’re you doing?” he questioned as Cal dropped his soiled washcloth on the floor and pressed his head against her chest, stroking his hair.

“Providing you warmth and comfort,” she replied. “You need it, I know.”

Murdoc laid awkwardly against her, his arms pinned in her grasp, his face nearly smashed into the tops of her breasts.

“Shhh, no need to say anything.”

“I didn’t say –”

“I’m here for you.”

“You’re daft, woman. Absolutely mental.”

She kissed his forehead, then released him and sat up again. “I know, Niccals, I know. But it felt good, didn’t it? So trivial, so simple … so essential.” She glanced down at him. “Sometimes you need to cling to the trivial and the simplistic. It’s necessary.”

“And suffocating,” Murdoc remarked as he sat up next to her.

“Of course. That’s how you know I’m here.” She booped his nose and then began dressing again. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight.”

“Where’re you going?”

“To La fénix. The night’s still young and I feel so alive.” She beamed. “Will you come with me, Niccals?”

“Sure, Cal.” His response was less energetic.

“You don’t have to, ya know. You can sleep or stay up or whatever. But me – I don’t know. I feel like running. Do you ever feel like that?”

“After sex?”

“Ever?”

“Not in a long while, no.”

“How about now?”

“Well I don’t know, Cal. I feel different, I suppose.”

She bit her lip, grinning. “That’s something.”

Murdoc grabbed his jeans and slid them on. Suddenly, he felt excited. As he grabbed his shirt, he laughed. “You know, it’s ridiculous, this. We sound mad.”

“Have you ever been here, in this moment?” She stood in the mirror and pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. She grabbed his leather jacket from the chair and slipped it on.

“About to run a post-coital marathon? No, never.”

She snapped up and nodded at him. “I thought I had before but … but maybe not? I don’t know.”

“Cal, you _have_ had sex before, right?”

“Yes, shithead. Why?”

“You’re just acting odd. Most people have a smoke, roll over and fall asleep, but you, you’re like a rabbit on crack running about. Did you have something else at the bar?”

“Hey, fuck you, asshole, I’m paying you a compliment. I feel great, and it’s not because of drugs or booze or anything except that I’m happy. I’m happy you’re here and I’m happy we made this decision. I mean, maybe the booze is egging the situation on, but fuck. The weather’s great, the bar was fun, and the company is fucking hot. Can’t a girl enjoy it?”

Murdoc didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t asking for cab fare, she wasn’t trying to rush out, she wasn’t telling him with forced adoration he was a god. She was riding a high that pulled at him, an energy he longed to taste. It excited him. _Him_. That’s who she was talking to, to whom she was referring. _Fucking hot_.

_Him_.

He stalked across the small space to her, took her under her ponytail and kissed her deeply. When they parted, his hand found hers and they silently left her studio, the strand alive all around them. The music from other bars and people’s patios blended together in a way that shouldn’t have made sense but did. It was underscored by the crashing of high tide off to his right, illuminated by natural light. Her hand was still a little sweaty in his, and she whipped her hair about energetically when she started talking again.

 He acknowledged her with a smile, not really hearing what she was saying but enjoying the sound of her words, her taste lingering on his tongue, her scent present. The crushing of leather as she bent an arm or pressed closer to him was audible, too. His jacket never sounded that way when he wore it, and it was a lovely noise, one which he filed into his memory. The more she went on, the more energized he felt. Maybe he wouldn’t sit at the table and drink; maybe he’d dance, maybe he’d sing something if 2D was still doing karaoke – _ha, no fucking way._ Well, even though that was off that table, he’d be, too. He’d walk around, chat people up, maybe find a quiet spot to steal Cal away to kiss. Suddenly, the options were endless and it _felt so good_.

He felt like 2D staring up at the Ferris Wheel. He felt like Noodle in the ice cream parlor that one Christmas long ago. He felt like Russel when he looked at Letí. He felt like Cal – alive.  

* * *

In a drunken moment, Murdoc had announced to the table that he was going to stay at Cal’s that night, and shortly thereafter, Noodle announced that the rest of them should call a Lyft to head back to the apartment. They were sweaty and tipsy, having danced and drank the rest of the night. Upon leaving La fénix, Murdoc realized that their group had grown. 2D strolled with a lady under each arm, Noodle shared a joint with Darren the Drug Guy, and Russel and Letí strolled arm in arm in giggling bliss. Others trailed, mostly on a high from the night, but trickled off when the group stopped on the sidewalk of Pacific Avenue and Venice.

Amongst the chatter, Cal had turned to Murdoc and asked if he wanted to go to the apartment with everyone instead, just in case he didn’t want to feel singled out by heading in a different direction. In response, he took her hand, flipped the rest of the group off, and pulled Cal down the strand, receiving playfully colorful retorts from Noodle and 2D in response.

At Cal’s, she and he stripped and showered, using their final reserve of energy from the booze to fuck under the warm shower stream until they stumbled their way to her bed, both passing out in exhaustion.

The next morning, Cal awoke to find Murdoc sprawled on her couch in his underwear, strumming one of the basses from La fénix. Her head pounding, she sat herself up and blinked in his direction.

“Good morning,” he greeted, silencing his playing.

“You didn’t sleep over there, did you?”

“Of course not. But after a while I couldn’t sleep, so I walked back to the bar and nabbed this. Carlito wasn’t too happy about it, but I told him if I really wasn’t allowed that Letí’d have my arse and he seemed content with that.” He set the bass along the couch and went to the bed, giving Cal a kiss and flopping down next to her. “I think the others are headed to Disneyland today.”

Cal recoiled at this. “Did you want to go?”

He shook his head. “I’ve had some inspiration and came up with a few basslines. I’d rather fiddle if that’s okay.”

“Fiddle away. I need to get some writing done, so it’s perfect.”

She got up and pulled on an undershirt and yoga shorts. In the kitchenette, she put on a pot of coffee and grabbed a tea bag for Murdoc while he stepped outside to smoke. She pulled out a frying pan and heated it, poured herself a cup of coffee as Murdoc returned.

While his tea bag steeped, he fried up some eggs, barring her from helping. She sipped her coffee, silently amused, as he guessed at where things were in her kitchen. He added some breakfast sausages to the pan, and she grabbed some bread from the pantry and popped the slices into the toaster. They sat on the barstools on the opposite side of the barrier between the living room and the kitchen and ate, Murdoc glancing over the newspaper he’d purchased along his walk from La fénix, Cal doing the same over an article she had to submit.

They spent most of the day like this, together but in separate spaces, Murdoc strumming basslines over and over again before scratching notes onto some paper she supplied for him, and Cal moving between her bed and the coffee table with her laptop at various times in an effort to satiate the restlessness that always overcame when she wrote for long periods of time. They hardly spoke to one another unless it was Cal muttering a compliment about one of his basslines, or her asking him if a phrase sounded right, to which he’d offer his feedback.

They ordered a late lunch in, indulging in takeout and cheap wine from the liquor store, and made out on the bed while both verbally stating that they really needed to get some work done. The kissing led to more sex, followed by an hour of spooning and napping. Murdoc awoke to Cal getting up to write again, and with tired effort, he dragged himself back to the couch, staring out the window at the dying day as he started to play again.

Around dinnertime, Noodle called Murdoc to ask what they had planned for dinner. Murdoc told her that he’d rather not go out and Cal suggested they come to her place to barbeque. Within a couple of hours, the group sat outside on the patio while Russel grilled, 2D eagerly sharing his stories from the day. He was even more excited when he presented Murdoc with his very own pair of Mickey ears which matched the rest of the group’s, except the name stitched onto the back of his was “Merle.”

“Why the fuck did you not tell them they’d spelled my name wrong, you git?”

2D took his ears off and stared down at the “Stuart” etched into the back of them. “They told us they’d only stitch our real names, not nicknames, and they didn’t believe me when I said your name was Murdoc. I tried Merlin and Mudsy to no avail. So I pulled up an article on my phone called ‘Very American Names’ and ‘Merle’ sounded splendid, so I went with that.”

“It was actually an article about the Walking Dead show,” said Letí. “I tried to tell him that Merle was a racist asshole but …”

“It was under the ’ashtag ‘American names’ and it was the closest thing to your name, Muds.”

“I think you mean Merle, D,” Cal teased.

“I see a bass in the living room,” Noodle interjected as she stared directly at Murdoc. “Were you playing?”

“Writing. Bit of both, actually.”

Noodle smiled. “We spent the day horsing around the happiest place on earth, and you stayed in to work. I’m impressed.”

“Well, it wasn’t _all_ work, love. There was some play.”

Cal choked on her beer and 2D patted her back.

“I bet there was,” chimed Letí. “Pinche sucíos.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Noodle continued, “I’m glad you got some work done, Muds. I’m anxious to hear it.”

“I’m expecting to hear from the crew soon. We’ll have to start getting back into that mindset before the show.”

Cal side glanced Murdoc. “That charity gig, right?”

2D answered for him, “Tha’s right. At the Whiskey a Go Go in ’ollywood.” He quickly added, “You girls should come. We’ll make sure you’re on the list to get in.”

“You can come to our rehearsal, too,” said Russel. “Might put our asses in gear before the show.”

“We’d love to,” Letí replied. She looked at Cal. “Right, babe?”

“Sure.”

Noodle smirked. “Cal, has Murdoc told you what band we’re in yet?”

“Nope.”

“It’s never come up,” Murdoc said. He turned to Cal. “You have no idea, do you?”

Cal shook her head and caught Letí giggling in Russel’s direction. “Letí, do you?”

“Actually, I do. Russel told me like weeks ago.”

“Even at the party, no one said anything to you?” Noodle asked Cal.

“No. Did other people know?”

Gorillaz laughed.

“I take that as a yes.” Cal turned to Murdoc. “So people recognized you?”

Murdoc shrugged. “I signed a couple of napkins, yeah. It’s hard not to recognize this mug, babe.”

“It is for Cal,” chuckled Russel. “Should we just tell you?”

“No!” Cal remarked. “I just … if it happens organically, cool.”

“Well, it’ll happen at the show,” said Noodle.

“Meh, we’ll see,” Letí added. “I’m actually curious to know if she’d know you guys.”

“That’s absolutely disheartening,” said Murdoc. “I can’t completely fault you if you don’t, Cal, because you do have great taste in music, though it’d definitely mean the ending of our friendship.”

Cal laughed. “Well I hope for your sake your music is good enough to be on my epically awesome iTunes account because I only listen to the greats.”

“If we’re not, no big. You’ll learn to love us,” 2D told her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll expect you to be at every show, ya know, cheering us on and whatnot. You can ’ave a free shirt, too.”

“Fine, but if you guys have ones with your faces on it … well, I’d rather do one without that. It just seems weird.”

“What, you don’t want my face on your tits?” Murdoc teased, at which Noodle elbowed him in the side. Rubbing his ribs, Murdoc continued, “Look, so it’s less awkward, we’ll trade a shirt for a copy of your book. How does that sound?”

Cal reached her hand out to him and they shook on it. “Deal, Niccals. But until then, I don’t want to know anything else. And god help you if you’re in a country band – _I’ll_ have to end this friendship.”

They laughed and ate as the fire of the grill died down. After a while, Noodle and Letí moved inside, Russel eventually following. 2D asked Cal if they were allowed on the beach after dark, and she told him yes, though it wouldn’t be a good idea to swim. He wanted to put his feet in the water and she agreed to come while Murdoc loitered around the grill as he finished his beer.

“You coming, Niccals?”

“I’ll catch up.”

Cal nodded and walked barefoot across the strand alongside 2D, crossing the cooled sand until they found the edge of the high tide. The water was cold and the breeze made it colder, but the night was beautiful, the water’s surface aglow under the moonlight.

“I’m serious, ya know,” said 2D after a while. “It’d be nice for you and Letí to come see us on tour. Maybe not the whole thing because of work but some of it. We’ll be going ’round Europe for the final leg.”

“I don’t know, 2D …”  

“We’d fly you out, of course.”

“It’s not the money. It’s just …”

“Just what?”

Cal looked at him. “Well, I guess I’d have to talk to Murdoc about it. See if he’d want that.”

“Why wouldn’t ’e? He fancies you a lot.”

She smiled. “It’s easy to be caught up in a fantasy, D, especially when the moment is right. But sometimes that’s all it is. A fantasy.”

2D furrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t want this to work out?”

“No,” she said quickly and took hold of his elbow. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I want this to be real.”

“Then make it real,” he said simply. When she didn’t say anything, he pressed, “Why does everyone insist that what I’m saying isn’t real life? Disneyland is full of dreams coming true. Ordinary people overcoming extraordinary things, finding love, living ’appily ever after. Maybe you lot should’ve come today.”

“Disneyland is a tourist trap based on Americanized fairy tales.”

“I know fairytales aren’t real, Cal. But they came from somewhere, and even if they were never completely true to begin with, they started because of some kinda truth. Kinda like how you write, I suppose. Your poem about smashing rocks the other night – it came to ya because of something you really experienced, I dare say because of Murdoc. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Cal swallowed hard and nodded, feeling foolish.

“No really, doesn’t that mean something? I feel like I’ve seen this situation in a movie – a few of ’em anyway. But seriously, consider coming for a show or more. It’s not even that Murdoc wants it. He needs it. Someone like you is good for ’im. I’ve seen it. He’s never been like this before.”

“Really?”

“Really. Mostly because I’ve never known the girl’s name, nor really spoken to her, or she’s coming onto me after Murdoc forces her out of the ’ouse, but with you, it’s different. We see you both. He isn’t calling you something terrible and you’re not trying to ’ave one of my kids. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, sorry D, I don’t think I can contend with the teeny boppers you pick up.”

“It’s a real curse, these boyish looks.”

“A real cross to bear, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Cal laughed. “2D, you’re very wise.”

“It’s probably because I’m a worldly person. I also ’ave the Wikipedia app on my phone.”

_Worldly_. She quieted, her initial hesitancy with his offer returning. “One more question about Murdoc. I’ve only known him in a casual sense. Is there anything else about him that like changes when he’s on tour? I mean I know he’s a drinker – though he hasn’t been as drunk lately.”

“We’ve noticed tha’.” 2D cocked an eyebrow at her and nudged her with his elbow. “On tour Muds is moody, generally unapproachable and ’is ’ygiene worsens – so no, nothing really changes about ’im.”

“Rock star to the core, huh?”

“Rock star. You must be speaking about me.” Murdoc stopped just before the water on Cal’s other side.

“We were, yes,” returned 2D. “Where’ve you been?”

“Getting interrogated.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lit one. “It’s like the bloody TMZ back there on your couch, Cal. Be warned.”

“Over what?” she asked, though she knew it was obvious.

“‘What does the bassline sound like?’ ‘Did you come up with lyrics?’ ‘Have you heard from Damon or Jamie yet?’ ‘Did you really fuck my friend?’ They’re rabid.”

“Who are Damon and Jamie?”

“Our managers,” said 2D. “Damon works with us musically and with scheduling, and Jamie is our wardrobe and set designer. We’re a lot to ’andle, they’ve said, ’ence us ’aving two of ’em.” He glanced between Murdoc and Cal and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, suppose I’ll carry on then. Everyone still at the ’ouse, Muds?”

“Yeah. Dunno if they’re gonna head back to the apartment soon.”

“Well, if I don’t see you lot before we ’ead out, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Maybe do the beach again.”

“That’d be great,” said Cal. “Murdoc owes me a swim.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Murdoc rolled his eyes. To 2D, he said, “Sod off now, mate.”

Normally 2D would have given him a smart remark but instead he grinned and trekked back toward Cal’s. Finally, there was a peacefulness within the universe.

“Can I have a hit?”

Murdoc eyed Cal and handed the cigarette to her. “Not feeling the effects of parents, are we?”

She shook her head and took a drag. “Just learning bad habits, I suppose.”

“You were never meant to learn anything else hanging ’round me, love.”

“I’ve learned quite a bit in the past twenty-four hours, Niccals.” She handed him the cigarette and returned her gaze to the ocean as another wave of white water rushed past her ankles. It was cold and refreshing, but was immediately overpowered by Murdoc’s embrace as he wrapped an arm around her waist and blew smoke in the opposite direction of her. She laid her head against his shoulder.

“I wish I could know more.”

“More? You’ve seen me at my most vulnerable.”

“I don’t think so.” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “There’s something else.” Her hand closed around his. “In time, maybe.”

Murdoc’s eyes lingered on the darkness, hearing her words and their meaning but unable to communicate the thoughts that passed through his mind.

He saw him in the break water, felt his brooding presence at his side, shivered at the icy whispers he spat into his ear. From thousands of miles away Sebastian Niccals dug his unkempt nails into Murdoc’s brain and assured him, “ _It’ll all crumble soon enough, boy._ ”

“You cold?” Cal turned to him and gripped his shoulders, concern overcoming her as she searched for that familiar playfulness in his eyes.

“A bit.” He shrugged out of her grasp. “We should head back.”

“I’ll get you warmed up.” Cal took his hand and led him up the berm. As much as he felt the digging in his mind, the tightness of Cal’s grip around his hand quieted it. He smiled. It was an automatic response as they approached the edge of the strand, life of the night fading out, except for the brightness from the sliding glass doors of Cal’s patio. Just beyond the glass, Letí, Noodle and Russel were seated on the couch while 2D was on his stomach on the bed. They were having an animated conversation with Noodle doubled over in laughter while Russel pointed at 2D. Letí laughed as well while a beaming 2D shrugged. They were obviously all reeling over some memory Russel had of 2D being clumsy. There were endless stories like those, each one more hilarious than the next.

“Are you far away, Niccals?”

He looked at her, the soft smile playing on her lips highlighted by the glow of a streetlight on her face. It seemed stupid and cliché and essentially unreal, like a scene from some ridiculous piece of fiction confessed into a pink laptop by a fan girl in the wee hours of the night, but as his other hand reached around her and he felt her arms lock around his waist, holding him in place, Murdoc realized how real it was, and how lovely.

“Actually, Cal, I’m right here.”

“Good. I kinda like having your green ass around.”

“A legend like me? Who wouldn’t?”

Cal rolled her eyes. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Greenleaf.”

“As you wish.”

And they kissed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I'm able to post this chapter because I've been so busy and this weekend is going to be a chaotic frenzy of good times as I celebrate the manfriend's birthday and our 7-year anniversary, so I'll be off the radar for a bit as I hash out chapter 11. 
> 
> I'd also like to mention that I've been writing "Cobra/Cuba Libra" instead of "Cuba Libre" and that really bums me out, but I've gone back and fixed this on my main draft, so I acknowledge my mistake :p Going forward, should the group indulge on those, it'll be cited correctly. 
> 
> I hope this chapter was a fun one to read. It was fun to write and even more fun going through the edits/notes from Robin (with her stellar self!) so a huge shout out to her for her efforts so that I can put out better content. As always, if you have any questions, issues, feedback, or just want to say hi, I'll take it all! :] Thanks for reading!
> 
> Chapter 10 Playlist:  
> "Strobelite" Gorillaz  
> "Freedom" George Michael  
> "No Limit (Remix)" G Eazy   
> "Starboy" The Weeknd  
> "I'm Not in Love" 10cc  
> "Like A Prayer" Madonna  
> "Father Figure" George Michael  
> "She's a Rainbow" The Rolling Stones  
> "Daydreaming" Radiohead


	11. Chapter 11

_He opened his eyes was back in the lobby of the hotel. The same musty air was laden with dust and grime, the stained emerald carpeting beneath his feet matted with mud and tattered along the edges. Someone had started a fire in the corner near the reception desk, the wood lining of the walls exposed and charred. Cigarette butts and burn marks littered the top of the desk, shards of broken bottles peppered around its base._

_The large canvas on the wall behind the desk was full of holes from some kind of ammunition, be it bullets or rocks or the ends of knives, the image obliterated by years of spray-painted inspiration. Etched in the wall alongside its notched golden frame in shaky lettering were the words “Murdoc is here.” He couldn’t recall vandalizing this particular that into the wall but it didn’t surprise him. Murdoc liked to leave his mark on the places he trespassed upon, and so far he was the only one brave enough to claim this stake._

_He smoothed out the front of his primary school jumper and observed the boarded-up windows, dreary upholstery on the abused furniture near the foyer, the towering archway of the sealed entrance he’d somehow snuck through. Had it been through the front door? He couldn’t be sure. The wooden panels, though moldy from wet weather and bowed inward from people like him trying to get in, remained intact. Isn’t that how he got in last time? He couldn’t remember. But what he did know was that the air, as suffocating as it was, felt familiar – like home._

_Yes, he was used to living with locked doors. His bedroom door. Outside the front door whenever Sebastian was at the bar. The liquor cabinets. Sometimes the refrigerator door. In the future, jail cells. Always in a space that was hard to enter and leave, a space intent on keeping him, whether for safety or as a prisoner. The concept of keys eluded him. However, there was peace within confinement, a womb-like assurance that guarded him from the world. Despite the ugliness of the lobby and the fear of what lurked in dark corners, Murdoc clutched himself and sighed, realizing that in the quiet he was alone and safe from the weather outside – assuming Stoke was a waterlogged mess as usual. In here, there was no yelling, no tiptoeing about, no interference. Here, Murdoc could breathe without worry of interrogation._

_Holding to that peace of mind, he strolled to the reception desk and pulled himself up onto it, where he took a shard of glass and began scratching away at the wood._

_“Are you far away, Niccals?”_

_Murdoc jumped and whipped his head in the direction of the voice. Cal stood in the same black shroud from last time between him and the hotel’s entrance, her hands clasped together in front of her. He absently started digging into the wood again._

_“Where else am I to go? It’s cold and rainy outside.”_

_“School. Home. Anywhere you want.”_

_“Classes are shit. I hate my home. There’s nothing beyond Stoke. I’m best here.”_

_“This place is falling apart, Murdoc.”_

_“It’ll hold. It’s been here for as long as I can remember.”_

_“You’re boxed in. When it crumbles, you’ll be crushed.”_

_“I said it won’t.”_

_“How can you be sure?”_

_“Because I fucking said, lady. It’s always been this way, and it always will.”_

_Pounding erupted on the planks across the entrance doors, shivering the building and raining down dirt and filth from the ceiling._

_“What’s that?” Murdoc exclaimed, jumping down from the desk. He carefully made his way to Cal, his eyes transfixed on the entrance._

_“You tell me what it is.”_

_“He’s found me,” whispered Murdoc, and he clung to Cal’s waist, his head pressed into her hip._

_As the pounding intensified, Cal crouched down and wrapped her arms around Murdoc, offering him a small smile._

_“I know you’re in there, boy,” growled Sebastian, his voice echoing through the cracks between the boards._

_“It won’t hold forever, Murdoc. What will you do?”_

_“He can’t do shit, you slag!” roared Sebastian. “Open this fucking door, you little nancy. I’ll teach you to keep me out.”_

_Murdoc stared at Cal. “I don’t want to go outside.”_

_“He’ll find a way in, Murdoc. You either let him or you leave.”_

_“I don’t know how to get out, and anyway he’ll find me.”_

_“How did you get in?”_

_“I can’t remember.”_

_“It doesn’t matter. You have a choice. You either let him in or you leave.”_

_“I just said I can’t.”_

_The walls of the building began to shake, bits of plaster and wood falling around them._

_“Please, you must help me. Don’t let him get me.”_

_Cal gently brushed Murdoc’s fringe aside and placed her hand on his cheek. “I can’t keep him from you, Murdoc. Only you can do that. And if you choose to let him in, we’ll both die under the rubble. But if you find us a way out … well, maybe there’s something else. In time. Maybe.”_

_“How’s there hope in maybe?”_

_The building shuddered again, the canvas on the back wall smashing to the floor behind the reception desk._

_“How is there hope in hiding in the shadows of this place? One way or another, he’s going to get in. He’s going to find you. He’s going to destroy you. That is, unless you make a choice.”_

_Tears welled up in Murdoc’s eyes and fell down his face. He took her around the neck and held onto her, his eyes on the boards of the entrance which bowed like soundwaves within the space. Cracks separated the walls, the rain seeped in from the windows, and all around the bellowing of Sebastian Niccals haunted him. He shook in her arms, the most afraid he’d ever been._

* * *

 His eyes popped open and for the first time, he didn’t bolt upright, or grip his chest in terror. He shivered under the blanket, blinking several times in fear that the brightening room would fade into that rainy place in Stoke, but Cal’s ceiling remained. The sheer curtains against the sliding glass door were gold as the sun peered out from the horizon, the ocean turning from a frigid blue velvet to a glossy gray sheet wrinkled by the onshore breeze. A few black lumps dotted the surface – surfers – still against the eruption of color as the night sky faded away. Beside him, the quiet breathing from a sleeping Cal broke the silence and cemented his existence in this moment.

Murdoc gently slid off the bed, grabbed the bass from the corner of the living room and stepped outside. It was colder than he expected for an early Los Angeles morning, but he ignored the chill that induced goosebumps along his exposed chest. Instead, he took a seat on the patio, lit up a cigarette, and started strumming. He did so for a few minutes before quickly popping back in to the house to grab his paper and pen.

He etched lines into the paper. He strummed harder. He etched words onto the paper. He strummed faster. He strangled the pen between his fingers and bled the ink along the paper. His fingertips hurt. His nails hurt. His existence hurt. But he strummed and wrote anyway. Sebastian Niccals could pound on the doors of his dreams all he wanted – and Murdoc could pound just as hard.

“Hear this, you motherfucker,” he seethed through gritted teeth, and he slammed at the bass strings until the sound was good enough to be written down.

He ignored the occasional passerby. He ignored Cal’s neighbor who stepped off his porch to grab the newspaper. He ignored Cal when she finally emerged with a serape blanket draped around her and a hot mug of coffee between her hands. He ignored the cup of tea she left at his side before disappearing into the house again. He tried to ignore the group when they showed up later that morning but 2D’s surprise at Murdoc playing caused Murdoc to jump when he realized he had an audience gathered along Cal’s gate. Realizing he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a breath, Murdoc gulped in air and clutched the bass tightly against his front, blinking wildly at the random people watching him.

“Alright, alright, bugger off now,” 2D said, shooing cyclists and tourists away. “He’ll be cranky in a bit and trust me, there’s nothing attractive about that.”

Murdoc watched the crowd disperse, Russel and Noodle entering the gate. Noodle gave him a grin as she passed.

“Good holiday, eh, Russ?”

Russel pulled the front door open for her. “Not bad at all, I’d say.” He gave Murdoc a nod and followed Noodle into the studio. They were both clad in beach attire.

2D finally came into his field of vision, wearing a tank top and his board shorts. “’Ow long ’ave you been out ’ere, mate?”

“Dunno,” said Murdoc, the tenseness of his body suddenly easing into a puddle of flesh and blood. He was exhausted and energized simultaneously. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“Just past ten. We’re ’eaded out to the beach if you wanna come. Letí’s gonna meet us there in a bit with some takeaway from ’er place.”

Murdoc nodded, still waking from his trance. “Sure.”

2D beamed. “Right then. I brought you stuff just in case. No black Speedo or anything. Noodle picked out some swimming trunks for you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Well, come inside when you’re ready then.” 2D disappeared through the door.

Murdoc exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair. Something caught, a small pain erupting around one of his nails. He looked down at his hands and realized he was bleeding around a few of his nailbeds and had rubbed the outside of his thumb raw, tiny gashes in his skin. Taken aback, he grabbed the neck of the bass and headed inside as the group had coffee and chatted. Cal stood behind the bar of the kitchen, in her bikini top and a pair of board shorts. When she saw him, she quieted, eying him thoughtfully.

“Thought I’d lost you there, Niccals.”

“D’ya have any sticking plasters? I’ve cut myself.”

Cal gave him a quizzical look and then realized what he meant. She motioned him to follow and moved to the bathroom. From the medicine cabinet, she pulled out a box of Band-Aids and Neosporin.

“You were in such a place this morning, I felt so bad stepping out there,” she said as she cleaned his wounds.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear you.”

“It’s fine. Those are the best moments artistically. Something so fleeting sometimes. I really tried not to break your flow.”

“It felt like seconds.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just feels like I’ve been fucking for hours.”

Cal chuckled and wrapped the last Band-Aid around his thumb. “Maybe you were, in some subconscious way. Making love to your craft. It’s a beautiful thing.”

“Do you do that when you write?”

“I try. It’s like speed dating. You go through so many motions and avenues until you get frustrated with the monotony and then … then a moment comes that intrigues, and that intrigue turns into infatuation, and that infatuation turns into this mind-blowing rhythm you didn’t know you had inside you. And this hidden energy reverberates off the keyboard, and you read what you’ve made repeatedly to maintain that pleasure and inspiration until finally something wakes you up and leaves you tired but satisfied. Maybe even a little lonely. It’s chaotic and scary but fun. Fun when it’s there, ya know?”

Murdoc glanced back at the living room and then quietly closed the door, cutting them off from the others. In a swift effort, he picked her up and sat her on the edge of the sink, moving her legs around his waist and pressed his mouth to hers.

Caught off guard, Cal allowed him to proceed, trying to hold in her laughter at the sudden affection. He ran his hands over her breasts while he kissed down the side of her mouth, along her neck, her nipples hardening from the tingling that erupted along her skin where his tongue lapped.

“Murdoc!” she gasped in his ear, gripping his shoulders for balance.

“I’m so fucking hard right now, you’ve no idea,” he breathed against her neck.

“I know, I can feel it. But we’re not alone.”

“Pity. All I wanna do is ravage you here and now.”

“Jesus fuck,” Cal whispered, trembling against him. “I can tell them we’ll meet them there.”

Murdoc nodded and released her, gripping the other side of the sink to steady himself while Cal did a quick mirror-check before heading out to the living room. Murdoc heard her tell them that he was going to change, and that they’d meet them on the beach in a few.

He could hear the awkwardness in her voice, and their playful responses indicated that they didn’t necessary believe her amused him as they bounded through the door. The only one who seemed to genuinely buy her story was 2D as he gleefully called out that he’d see them both soon.

As soon as the door snapped shut, Murdoc left the bathroom, Cal closing the curtains of the sliding glass door. He seized her from behind, gripping her around the waist with one arm, the other hand around her neck applying a conservative amount of pressure before it slid down and yanked one of her breasts out of her bikini. Her gasps at his aggression both excited and intrigued him.

“We haven’t really played dirty yet, ’ave we, Cal?”

“Are you asking for my permission?”

“What can you handle?”

“Just do it and if I don’t like it I’ll tell you.”

“What word?”

Cal smirked. “2D.”

Murdoc cringed. “Goddammit, that’s a name I’d rather _not_ hear in the bedroom, thank you.”

Cal turned around and stared at him hard. “Then don’t fuck it up and you won’t hear it.” She shoved him away and smirked darkly at him. Her board shorts fell from her hips as she untied the band of fabric holding them up, and her hands traveled to her back where the metal clasp of her top was.

“I’d prefer to do that.”

“I bet you would.” She unhinged it and dropped it to the floor.

Murdoc smacked his lips and placed his hands on his hips. “If you’re not gonna listen, I’ll have to make you.”

Cal bit her lip and hooked her thumbs in the top of her bikini bottoms. “Try it.”

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Murdoc was on her. He threw away the hand she had on her bottoms and gripped the fabric himself, his mouth over hers, as he pulled her to the bed. He turned them around and pushed her onto the bed back first. Seizing her ankles, he dragged her to the edge of the mattress and propped them against his shoulder.

Still holding her feet in one hand, he used the other to inch her bottoms up past her knees, grazing over her sensitive skin with his bandaged knuckles, maker her grip at the bedsheets as she bit back a moan. Once the stretchy fabric was free, he tossed it aside and kissed the inside of her foot, brushing his teeth along the curve of her calf as he moved downward towards her inner thigh, switching his grip so that her legs bracketed his head.

He took a knee and looked up at her as he loomed closer to her core. Cal stared back at him just as intensely, challenging him to continue. He wasn’t a man to back down from a challenge. His tongue parted her warm flesh, embedding himself inside her. He knew she didn’t want to give in but her legs stiffened and her toes curled, and he gripped her around her thighs to keep her from shifting.

Her breathing intensified as he worked his mouth and tongue, the rhythm deep and melodic. She gripped at his hair, at the bedsheets beneath her, at her own breast, tipping her head back as she tried not to let on how wild he was driving her. He pressed into her harder, taking in her subtle tanginess.  

When she couldn’t throttle her moans any longer, Murdoc stopped and backed off. Her eyes popped open, and she glared at him with hazy incredulity.

“Turn around. On your knees.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, I’ll fuck you, thanks. Turn around. On your knees.”

She planted her feet on the floor, stood, and matched his line of sight. “Make me,” she taunted.

Murdoc grabbed her shoulders and forced her around, pushing her forward so that she was on her knees at the edge of the bed. Cal planted her elbows, grinning wildly as she shook her hair back. Behind her, Murdoc removed his boxer briefs. His hands latched onto her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he forced her back against him. She arched her back, allowing his erection to slide into her from behind.

Cal exhaled and gripped the sheets, his shaft gliding in and out of her slicked center. This wasn’t her favorite position – she’d never come this way before – but the lingering buildup from his mouth on her clit, and the rhythm and depth of his strokes was driving her crazy.

For once, it was nice to fuck and be fucked by a man.

It didn’t take either of them long. When it was done, they collapsed onto the bed, Murdoc cradling her from behind as he wrapped an arm under her. She clutched at the arm as they both curled into fetal positions, listening to their breathing slow. Murdoc stroked her neck with his bandaged thumb and index finger and pressed his lips to her skin.

“You’re divine.”

The words were hushed and out of nowhere. Cal tried to turn her head, wanting to see his expression, but his arm tightened further, pinning her in place.

“I mean it. I’ve bowed to no one before.”

She struggled harder until he allowed her to break free, and she spun in his arms and kissed him fiercely.

They dressed in silence, Murdoc in new black swim shorts and his sunglasses, and Cal back in her bikini, topped with another wide-brimmed sun hat and sunglasses of her own. The air was warm and the sun was high as they crossed the strand and the soft sand, unaffected by the beachgoers who’d sectioned off the beach for their own amusement, the quietness of their walk underscoring the secret between them. It didn’t take long for them to find the spot the rest of the gang had picked out, and Cal surrendered her hat and sunglasses to the beach towel. Murdoc sat down in one of the chairs.

“No sunscreen this time, eh?”

“I just want to get out there.” She paused. “Coming?”

“I did twice.”

She laughed. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this. Our time is limited.” She turned and walked down to the soft sand. Ahead of her, the group was already in the water.

Murdoc dug his feet into the sand. Its heat was significant at first, but after a moment, it cooled. He watched Noodle body surf in towards Cal, who strolled into the white water with ease. 2D and Russel were out farther, both floating on their backs over the unbroken swells that bobbed them up and down. He knew the water probably felt wonderful amidst the heat of the early afternoon. It would probably be to his benefit to have such an experience. His body felt like it had been dragged through a trench, pleasured to the point of pain both creatively and artistically.

Still, it beat the throbbing despair of a hangover. He thought that it might be nice to let the ocean have its way with him, to let the current move him in its harmonious way as it did with Russel and 2D. With his luck, though, his tired body would give out on him and he’d slip under without any energy left to pull himself up. How embarrassing.

 _I’d die happy_ , he mused, smirking as his eyes wandered back to Cal. She popped out of the water in front of Noodle, her hair a waterfall of dark brown strands down the length of her back. By Satan, she was a gorgeous specimen. Tasted like a goddess. A real champion in the bedroom.

_Our time is limited._

_Fuck._

Reality was a bitch. Murdoc rubbed his eyes behind the sunglasses and sighed. Despite her words, none of them acted like an end was coming. None of them seemed unhappy or anxious. Even when Letí strolled up, tousled Murdoc’s hair, greeted him in Spanish with her new term of endearment “sucío,” and shot the shit with him for a moment as she laid out the food, Russel didn’t appear fazed in the slightest. It was as though nothing beyond this moment existed as he rushed up the berm and scooped her up, kissing her passionately, addressing her as “mamí,” as though they’d been together forever. In fact, their genuineness made Murdoc question his memory of how long they’d actually been together.

They shared a communal lunch of rice and beans, tortillas, chicken and carne asada, casually sipped wine from Solo cups, and returned to the water with refreshed excitement. This time, Cal didn’t ask Murdoc to come. Instead, she brushed his shoulder with her hand and left with the group. He knew she could sense his retraction. She was a saint for not pushing him, but he also was saddened she hadn’t. Russel and Letí were glued together at the hands. It was stupid and adorable, and Murdoc couldn’t pull his gaze away.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, and he tossed his sunglasses aside. “Fine, I’ll make a choice. I’ll make a goddamn choice. I’ll get in the bloody fucking water, eh. Ruddy bullshit.” A guy near him cast a frown in his direction as he covered his young son’s ears. “Piss off,” Murdoc sneered.

When he reached the wet sand, he stopped just before the edge of the tide and placed his hands on his hips. A wave of white water rushed up the sand over the tops of his feet. It was cool and smooth, beckoning him forward, despite the chill creeping up his calves.

It only took a moment for 2D to notice, and both he and Noodle rushed him. Murdoc barked at them to stay away, but his threats were useless. They tackled him and towed him through the swash zone, dunking him below the surface.

Fear closed its icy grip around his core. He didn’t know which direction the surface lay in. But as the water around him ebbed outward, a sense of calmness grew in him like a breaking wave. It was soothing, freeing, and even though he needed air, he let his body float in that stillness. It was only when he felt two pairs of arms encircle him that he remembered he actually did need air to survive. Breaking the surface and sputtering out seawater, both Noodle and 2D stood him up on a sand bar.

 “So the point of swimming is to actually _swim_ , Rōjin,” commented Noodle as Murdoc shrugged away from them and brushed his fringe aside.

 “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen Murdoc in water for leisure – you can swim, can’t ya, Muds?”

Murdoc shot daggers at 2D. “Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to entrust _you_ with _my_ life, ya knob?” He splashed water at 2D’s face. The younger man frowned and shoved water back at him. Suddenly, they were splashing each other relentlessly while Noodle backed away and shook her head. Cal swam up next to her, surprised.

 “Hey, he got in the water.”

“Yep, and already on about drowning each other. Why did I expect anything else?”

They watched Russel float towards 2D and Murdoc. With minimal effort, he seized 2D and tossed him over his shoulder. As Murdoc smirked in triumph, Russel proceeded to throw Murdoc in the opposite direction. Russel looked to Noodle and Cal.

“Problem solved,” he said, and then laid out again on top of the water.

“I’ll grab Stu if you’ll make sure Murdoc doesn’t float off,” said Noodle to Cal, but before she started to swim, Noodle turned back. “Hey, I know we haven’t had a chance to hang out. I’m fine with it, honestly, not because I don’t want to get to know you but because I’m happy you and Murdoc have spent so much time together.”

Cal nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. “I’m glad to hear that. I wasn’t sure if me monopolizing his vacation was irritating you guys.”

“On the contrary, this is the best holiday I’ve ever had,” Noodle replied. “It’s nice to see Murdoc happy. He won’t admit it but he deserves to be.” She paused. “I’ll be honest, I’m not the dreamer Stu is but if this time has shown me anything, it’s that maybe some kind of normalcy is possible for us. Maybe fate is in our favor after all.”

“I’m not entirely following, Noodle.”

“It’s stupid, really, but 2D had this ploy to have Murdoc fall – well, to get Murdoc to at least make an effort with you after he’d met you in Stoke. I’m sure you know already but Murdoc isn’t a committed kind of guy. In fact, he’s really shit when it comes to women. But with you we’ve seen something different in him, and it’s sparked this whole idea that perhaps Murdoc can change.”

Noodle gave a sardonic chuckle. “Now I’m just asking for miracles. But still, I want him to be happy. He’s a real prick sometimes but I think he can mellow if he has a reason to. I mean, he hasn’t been wasted as much lately. He’s been writing. I dare say he’s been actually laughing and smiling without malicious intent. I don’t know, there’s just a been a lot of moments these past few weeks that have almost made me a believer. Plus, you aren’t like the rest of ’em. I bet you’d kick Murdoc’s ass if he needed it.”

Cal laughed. “I hope it never comes to me having to embarrass him like that.”

“Well, if it does, whether or not I jump in, I’d back you up.” She grew serious. “Look, I’m not going to pry about anything. Your guys’ business is yours, but if you and him become something more, I think it’d be nice. I won’t promise anything’ll be easy. It’s not just Murdoc, either. Our lifestyle contributes. Who we are as a unit does, too. But if by some miracle it all happens how you want it, well … that’d be something, wouldn’t it?” She added, “And don’t expect me to call you mum.”

Cal’s eyes widened. “That thought _never_ crossed my mind. Like, at all.”

“Good. I mean it’d be nice to have another girl around but really I’ve enough parental figures in my life. Except 2D, he’ll always be my older little brother, if you catch what I mean.”

“Strangely, I do.”

“Speaking of, I haven’t seen him surface in a bit. Should probably go after him before he sees any sea life and retreats to the shore. Talk later, Cal.”

Cal watched Noodle swim off in the opposite direction. She turned and caught sight of Murdoc standing on the sand bar, the water rushing past his waist. In a way, it was odd seeing him there in nothing but board shorts against the Southern Californian backdrop, having just been reminded of Stoke. In her wildest imagination, Cal hadn’t thought she’d ever see Murdoc Niccals at the beach with her. A casual fuck, sure. But a longer term hangout? It seemed unreal, and yet, here they were, living the impossible with everyone around equally surprised.

She could tell he wasn’t completely comfortable in this state, much like how she’d be if the roles were reversed, but the fact that Murdoc had opted to come into the water on his own spoke volumes to her. Everyone kept mentioning the changes about him – smiling, laughing, happy. _Happy_. Cal smiled. Maybe their time together was something more than just hanging out. Maybe the end of this vacation didn’t mean the end of their friendship. _Maybe_ … 

With this thought, she wondered that if Murdoc was happy now, what made him unhappy before? She wanted to know more than anything what else he was keeping from her, why he was keeping it from her, and if they did choose to continue, if whatever it was would be something she could handle. She wanted to be there for him, but she couldn’t be if he wouldn’t open up to her, and the impending end of his vacation was the icing on her anxiety cake.

_No expectations, no complications … how could I be so foolish?_

In an effort to ease her nerves, Cal started to swim towards him in hopes that his presence and contemptuous wit regarding his current situation would take her mind off reality for a moment. But, two other women beat her to him. They waded out from the sand, doing their best to avoid getting their hair wet as they hopped over waves with exaggerated squeals, and began chatting him up. She heard them ask if he was at La fénix the other night and commented on his tattoos.

_I’m sure you know already but Murdoc isn’t a committed kind of guy._

A white cap rushed past Cal’s shoulders, her hair whipping out in front of her in its pull, but she maintained her balance and watched Murdoc talk about his tattoos with them. It was a matter of moments before their intrigued stares turned into intrigued touching, one girl taking his arm and running a finger over the octopus tattooed onto his forearm as she asked about its origin. Cal rolled her eyes and turned away, irritation welling up within her.

 _Stop it, Rivera_ , she chided herself. _There isn’t a ring on your finger, not even a mention of any kind of commitment. Remember: he isn’t a committed kind of guy._

She stood tall and smoothed her hair back, facing open water as a tamer set came in. Off to her right, the rest of the group hung around, dodging waves as they rolled in. The day really was nice, the temperature of the breeze and the water a harmonious balance, laughter and hollering encouraging comradery amongst those in the water. She focused on this, on the contagious chuckling from Russel as 2D toppled over into a wave, which was then interrupted by shrill laughter from behind her.

“Wow, what a life you lead, Mr. Niccals.”

“Please, Mr. Niccals was my father. Call me Murdoc.”

Cal grimaced.

“Oo, _Murdoc_ , I loved your guys’ last album. What was the name again?”

“It’s –”

Cal dove under the next wave, down to the bottom where her fingers glided over sand and shells and rocks. She lingered for a moment, swimming forward a bit, and resurfaced.

 _If this_ is _something, is this how I’m going to learn about Murdoc’s life? Through second-hand gossip from random women?_

The question loomed in her mind, a reminder of what the next week would bring if she decided to be introduced to that other side of him – the underlying rock star persona the rest of the world knew him as. She didn’t know how to feel about it. She was used to dating clueless boys without much attached to their names outside of pink slips, condo mortgages, and decent job titles. In fact, she was typically the “interesting” one, what with her writing credentials and her tiny clash with the Hollywood system.

She was used to being with someone transparent, sometimes to a fault, not because those boys wanted to be honest but because they weren’t dangerous enough to have anything worth hiding. Or if they attempted to hide something, like a side chick, it was an easy (and painless) transition from being taken to being single on her end. She shut that shit down with a cleaver, lopping off the dead weight without hesitation, partly because she didn’t have time for games but mostly because none of those guys were fascinating enough to cry over.

They weren’t ambitious like her, committed to simplistic routines, or they couldn’t always handle what she wanted in bed (or couldn’t grasp the hints), or their outlook on life didn’t vibe with her own. Yes, her family was well-off and educated – the hardworking, token Mexican family that had brown gardeners like everyone else on the block. On the outside, her history matched that of her partners, the majority of which were sandy-haired surfer or skater or garage band boys who could rely on their trust funds whenever they were in between work or “finding themselves.”

But that’s where the similarities ended. While these boys had good family backgrounds, Cal knew hers was not the same. She was someone brought up on strict schedules and rules and etiquette, trained to be both subservient and educated in order to achieve the status that her mother peacocked to everyone, regardless if they were blood or not: a refined housewife loyal to her husband’s wants, proud of being second-in-command, a headmistress to her daughters, and a doting yet judgmental abuela.

That wasn’t a future she wanted, and the second she could reject it, she had – not her culture, but the idea that she couldn’t live her life the way _she_ wanted. She wanted to live happily, not according to status or by the guidance of a man.

She wanted to express her emotions honestly, she wanted to bare all as she pleased, as unbecoming as it was in the eyes of family. She wanted to fuck who she wanted without being labeled a puta. She didn’t want to worship anything – she wanted to believe in herself. And in her rejection of all that, she solidified the distinction between her and the boys she dated who came with specific expectations about her and the way they lived their lives. When she explained that her relationship with her family was strained, they always assumed it was drugs or ties to the mafia. Typical “brown people” stuff. No one ever asked _why_ or _how_ or _are you okay_. Cal assumed they were too stupid to bother, or conditioned to keep it superficial. No one in Malibu discussed their own problems; you discussed everyone else’s problems, and if the ethnic family on the block had problems too similar to your own, you left it alone. Gossiping about drugs and mafia ties was far more interesting than dishing about the same old rebellious offspring motif. 

While Murdoc had yet to attempt to delve into her past, his interest in her writing was compelling. His person was inspiring. There was so much to him that he didn’t say, fueling her creative passions and curiosity, that it made her nervous. Being attached to other people was hard. He was nothing like these shallow Malibu boys, and the secrecy with which he maintained his past and his unwillingness to convey it to her made her equally nervous. She wanted the challenge, she wanted to help if that’s what he needed, but she also didn’t want to be caught up in a competition with a bunch of shallow strangers, his own slew of Malibu transparency she’d be forced to wade through. She didn’t mind the work but she also wanted reassurance that it would be worth something greater – something mutual. Something he wanted, too.

There had been so many women before her, though, evidenced by the two currently between them. How could she be the only _different one_ , as he so often expressed in fond revelation? It didn’t make any sense. If he was someone who wanted something different, why would he spend his life pursuing the same bullshit? Murdoc was anything but an idiot … wasn’t he?

“Cool it, Rivera,” she whispered amongst the waves. “You’re overthinking again.”

The only response was the gentle clapping of small swells tumbling over as they drifted towards the shore. She rose and fell as they passed. Off in the distance, a pelican plummeted through the water’s surface. A few gulls cawed overhead. Two hands clamped onto her hips and tugged at her, Cal quick to whip around as she found herself in Murdoc’s grasp.

“Don’t float away, love.” His smile was innocent enough, though she couldn’t find the energy to admit it.

“I’m a pretty good swimmer.”

“All the more reason not to, should I require assistance.”

“Generally you’d flag a lifeguard in that situation, though unfortunately for you, all the Pamela Andersons are off today.”

“Who needs a Pamela when I can have a Cal?”

“You tell me, Murdoc.”

Murdoc’s grip on her loosened. He sighed. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Cal replied, looking away from him. “Really, you didn’t.”

“It was the girls, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t say anything.

“I can’t help who approaches me, Cal.”

“I’m not saying you need to.”

“Then come out and say what you mean.” He paused. “You jealous?”

Cal cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not fucking jealous. I’m a million times more than a pair of girls like that, and if you can’t see that, you’re not worth my time after all.”

Murdoc smirked. “We need to stop this fighting because all it does is gets me hot, and this isn’t really a convenient place to have a go.”

“I wish the feeling was mutual – I really do.”

He straightened up, his plan at charming her obliterated. “Again, talk to me.”

“No, you talk to me. You tell _me_ something, Murdoc. Time’s running out. And knowing you, after you board that plane back to Europe, I’ll only hear about your itinerary from 2D. If I’m so different, Murdoc, why can’t I hear about you from _your_ mouth? I’m tired of hearing about you through other people.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cal,” Murdoc growled. “Interrogate me then. Ask away, I’ll be a bloody open book.”

 “That’s not how it works, Murdoc, and you know that.”

“I don’t need this shit,” he spat and started back towards the shore.

 “That’s right, Murdoc Niccals, swim. Swim far away. You’re really good at that.”

Murdoc turned back to her, his glare murderous. “You know, Cal, for someone so concerned with time running out, you sure know how to waste it. This isn’t how I want to spend my last few days here, and if that’s what you want, I’ll have no part of it.”

His words punched her in the stomach. “Oh, you’re a real piece of work, friend. A real piece. Oh wait – how would I know that? _You don’t tell me shit_.” She swam past him back to shore, her heart pounding in her chest.

Murdoc watched her go, his plan to escape to the beach thwarted as she stopped by the towel to grab her hat and sunglasses before stalking back to her studio. He didn’t look around. He knew they’d all witnessed the scene. As he swam forward again, he heard 2D start to say “what,” but before he could finish the syllable, Murdoc threatened to pull his tongue out if he completed the word.

“Stop it, Murdoc,” Noodle hissed at him.

“Do not get involved, Noodle,” he warned. “This isn’t about you or anyone else here.”

Noodle followed him up the berm as he grabbed a towel and ran it over his face.

“When you threaten one of your own it is my business, Murdoc,” she pressed in anger. “Be mad if you must but don’t do that to 2D. He’s genuinely concerned about you all the time.”

“I don’t need anyone worrying over me. I can take care of myself.”

“Quite. The woman wanting the job just ran off. Seems you’re doing fine.”

Murdoc swallowed hard, his hand shaking at his side.

"But that’s who you are, isn’t it? Always ready to poison the good because of some ridiculous disposition to which you’ve committed. It’s beyond infuriating, Murdoc, and entirely idiotic. If you want to be this way, fine, but don’t drag people through the ringer when they’re trying to help you. It’s just mean.”

“Then stay away.”

“No!” she bellowed. “ _You_ brought us here! You formed this band, you pulled us all through the hell that came with it, and we’ve worked hard together to maintain it. You don’t get to tell any of us to leave, Murdoc. And now you’ve gone and brought in someone else only to cast them away. It’s not fair.”

“Newsflash, kid, life isn’t fair.”

“Oh no, don’t start with that sardonic, paternal bullshit now, you arrogant bastard. You don’t get to fix this with all the scoops of ice cream in the fucking world whenever you want. I don’t need you to be a father right now, I need you to be a fucking man and handle your shit! Handle your shit or piss off!” 

Murdoc watched her retreat down the berm, her powerful voice demanding the others continue their fun. From the water, Russel glowered at Murdoc. Murdoc turned away from them, put on his sunglasses and made his way to the strand.

He bypassed Cal’s place, not even glancing in its direction, and hailed a cab. He gave the driver directions to the apartment, slammed the front door upon his arrival and stormed to the shower. He stood beneath the hot stream, cleansing himself of the beach, of all interactions and the shame he felt over it all. The day had gone from in his favor to horribly wrong so quickly that he hardly had any time to process it in the moment. But now, as his skin burned under the showerhead, everything about the day came flooding back.

Murdoc placed his hands over his face and yelled. He punched out at the tile and yelled again when the explosion of pain across his knuckles made it from his hand to his brain. He shrunk along the wall into a sitting position. He didn’t know if he was crying or not because of the water already running down his face. He knew that his hand hurt. He knew that his friends hurt. He knew that Cal hurt.

He hurt.

Murdoc sat there for a while, humming the basslines he’d come up with that morning. He tried to ignore the pounding in his mind and the throbbing of his hand, but after a while they both became too loud and diminished his humming, so he left the shower, toweled himself off and dressed, ready to bandage all of it by means of finding the closest hole-in-the-wall bar. Thanks to his phone, it wasn’t hard to find a spot with a one-star rating within walking distance. Unlike Albert’s generosity (rather, lack of concern) at The Pig, his current bartender wouldn’t let him take the cheap bottle of whiskey to the table with him, but Murdoc slapped a few impressive bills on the bar top and ordered the bartender to keep his glass full for the duration of his stay.

There were others like him in the bar, each in their own solitary bubbles of misfortune. They acknowledged each other with curt nods and continued to drink in silence, though eventually someone paid the money for the jukebox to play The Doors’ “Strange Days” album. Murdoc tapped a thumb to the beat as he downed another glass of whiskey. Every time the door of the bar opened, his eyes shot towards it, expecting to peek out at a dark, rainy sky beneath a blinking lamppost, preferably with a clumsy American girl stumbling inside to escape the weather and in search of some creative awakening.

However, the opening door only brought sunshine, the blast of music from passing cars and some middle-aged man running from responsibility. Eventually, a couple of girls wandered in, but when they looked around they instantly regretted their decision. The harshness of their neon ball caps and studded cowboy boots suggested that they were tourists. With little enthusiasm, they each bought a wine cooler, downed it and fled, leaving the rest of the bar to stew in its escapism.

Murdoc chuckled bitterly at the scene while the bartender filled his glass again. He couldn’t remember how many he’d had at this point. His eyelids were heavy, and his thoughts became less harsh and more centered on how alone he felt amidst Jim Morrison’s throaty vocals. He closed his eyes for a moment to rest those lids, only to find Noodle’s harsh expression staring back at him. In a panic, he opened his eyes and shoved the glass away. Murdoc sighed and ran his hands over his face. This time, it was Cal he saw – muted freckles, a distinct frown cutting into her face, her spirit dismantled behind her eyes. It was an expression he was used to, one he saw far too often in the mirror.

 _Fuck me, I_ am _Sebastian Niccals_.

This time, he felt the tear slip down his cheek. Swallowing hard, Murdoc stood just as the bartender arrived with another glass. Murdoc ignored him and walked with heavy feet to the door, the bartender calling after him for his change, but Murdoc waved him away. He was blasted in the face by the setting sun, suddenly warm beneath the collar of his short sleeved button-down. He jerked his hand out at a passing cab, fell into the backseat and sputtered to the driver that he needed to go back to Pacific Ave and Venice. The ride was a short one but his stomach felt queasy with the stop and go of the traffic. He ignored it, focused on the bleeding colors of the sun as it started its descent into the Pacific until the cab stopped along the curb of Pacific Ave.

Murdoc left him with an unknown amount of fare and stumbled like a frantic zombie along the strand until he finally arrived at Cal’s studio. Gripping the gate, he saw her through the curtains of the sliding glass door. She sat at the bar separating the living room and kitchen, her back to him, shoulders hunched. She was drinking something. It made him feel worse.

He forced himself forward, fear gripping him with every step he took closer to her front door. It took all his might to press his finger to the doorbell, and when he heard her footsteps coming towards him, he nearly puked over the stair railing.

Cal opened the door and leaned against it, staring down at him. His eyes were pink, and he seemed to sway in the cool ocean breeze.

“Are you drunk?”

“Very much so.”

“What do you want?”

“I’d like to puke first and then talk to you,” he admitted, the car ride creeping up on him. “If you’ll let me.”

Cal sighed in exasperation and then moved, Murdoc rushing past her straight to the bathroom. Shutting the front door, she heard him wretch a couple of times, flush the toilet and then turn on the sink. After a few moments, he emerged, face damp and eyes redder.

“Sit down. I’ll get you some water.” Her tone was less than enthused.

Murdoc ran a hand through his hair and went to the couch, but before he could sit, he turned to her and said firmly, “I’m not my father.”

Cal looked up from the kitchen sink at him.

“I know it seems like it but I’m not ’im.”

“I don’t know him, Murdoc. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m a terrible person,” he started, “but he’s a fucking monster. Every day I spent at home I wanted to run away. I wanted to be someone else. When I was younger, I ’ad my brother to confide in whenever my dad went on one of his benders, but as he got older, my father’s outbursts ran ’im down, and eventually I had to fend for myself. I was so alone, Cal. The house was always cold and the rain always found its way inside. I didn’t eat unless I figured out how to cook, and I could name every brand of liquor at the local pub because when I ’ad downtime after being dragged there by my father to perform, I’d sit and read everything behind the bar to block out the shouting and fighting that erupted from all the drunkards my father associated with. My brother broke my nose two times for playing a Dio record on his turntable, and my father laughed about it. And when I didn’t fight Hannibal back, he told me I was a nancy who’d never amount to anything.”

Cal brought the water out to him and sat him down on the couch. She made him take a sip.

“And you never met your mother, you said?”

“I was left at my father’s doorstep. I’m sure if the internet’d been around then he’d have sold me online then and there. But my presence helped him eventually, exploiting me for booze money.”

His heart punched the inside of his chest. “Cal, he was abusive, a drunkard, a womanizer. I look in the mirror and all I see is him. I’ve been running from him for so long and still he finds me whenever I catch my reflection. I told myself I could never be that way, I could never be like this to a wife or a kid, and I couldn’t even keep that promise to myself. Look at 2D, at Noodle. I treat them like shit. I fucked up the only chance I got of being a father. Why Russel hasn’t had me taken out yet is beyond me. I’ve never trusted a female and treat them exactly like my father did with ’is. And you …”

He paused, staring long and hard into her eyes, “You’ve been nothing but golden to me, and I can’t even get it right with you. You’re the only honest, genuine person I’ve met who’s shown a real interest in me as a human and not as some musical act, and I’ve been so offended by it. I’m trash, Cal, utter trash. You’re a clever girl; run away, now. You need someone else, someone good – 2D, he’s a good one. Not too bright but he’d walk the world for you. He’d be the most loyal servant to your every whim. Not sure about the kinky shit, but hell, maybe he would for you. He’d be stupid not to –”

Cal covered his mouth her hand. He sat there surprised until she let her hand fall.

“Take a breath,” she instructed, and he obeyed. “I don’t want a servant, and I don’t want 2D.”

Murdoc swallowed hard. “You don’t want me, either. I’ll fuck it all up. Hurt you. Already have.”

“Murdoc, I know what’s best for me. I’ve been working on making sure of that for the past thirty-two years of my life. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, too, but I don’t crumble because of it; I grow because I must. It’s either that or you get sucked into a cycle of being fucked. I don’t like being fucked on someone else’s terms. I mean shit happens, but you can’t let yourself be bound by it either.”

She placed her hand over his. “Look, I’m sorry about your past. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. But I promise that if you’ll let me, I’ll do everything in my power to show you that it doesn’t have to be a cycle. That the past will be what it is, but your future can be what you want it to be.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re not your father, Murdoc. Whatever’s telling you that is a lie.” She hesitated. “Have you ever thought about seeking professional help?”

“Confess to some ruddy doctor? I think not.”

“It’s not weak to ask for help.”

“I’m not asking for help. I’m trying to be open with you because it’s what you want.”

“But what is it you want?”

He pondered for a moment. “I’d really like to lay with you, Cal, at least until the room stops spinning. Then you can kick me out.”

Cal sighed. “I’m not going to kick you out, asshole. Partly because I don’t want you to leave, and because I don’t feel like driving right now.”

“You’re a real saint, ya know that? A real champion of mercy.”

Cal rolled her eyes. “And definitely too sober to buy into your drunken endearments, but you get an A for effort.” She stood and pulled him up and walked him to her bed. “Sleep it off, Niccals. I’m going to make some dinner. I’ll make extra just in case you want something when you wake up.”

He caught her hand. “Before you do, will you do something for me?”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

“Stay with me until I pass out?”

Her expression softened. She nodded. She watched him fumble with the buttons of his shirt. Gently, she moved his hands away and unbuttoned them with ease, sliding it off his shoulders and down his arms. Her hands trailed over his feverish skin, and when he didn’t move, she unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans.

He stepped out of them, easing himself down onto the edge of the bed, holding tight to her hand as he guided her with him. They scooted to the head of the bed and Murdoc laid on the pillows, Cal wrapping her arms around him from behind. He held tight to them, cradling her elbows in his palms. She pressed her forehead against the back of his neck and listened to his breathing, which slowed as time carried on.

Into the silence, he whispered to her, “I’m sorry.”

Her grip around him tightened.

* * *

Cal hopped up on the barstool and smiled at Carlito, who was straightening the liquor bottles behind the bar. He offered her an honest smile as he retrieved a mug from a cabinet and set it down before her.

“Buenos días, Carlito. How are you?”

“Bien, Cal. Café?”

“Please.” She looked around. “Is Letí around?”

The dark aroma of his special blend wafted through the small space between them as he filled her mug. “Telephone con su novío. Nice guy.”

Cal’s smile broadened and she hooked a finger through the mug’s handle. “He is. Gracías, Carlito.”

She blew at the steam coming off the top of the mug while Carlito grabbed a wash bin and retreated to the kitchen. La fénix was quiet in its emptiness, though Carlito had already opened the front windows, letting in the fresh smell of salt and the lapping of the tide against the shore as the strand awakened for another day.

She tapped idly on the top of her closed laptop, contemplating writing while she waited on Letí. But for some reason, the idea of interrupting the quietness of the space didn’t seem right, and her mind couldn’t seem to handle any more interruptions. She slid the laptop away and let the bitterness of the coffee linger on her tongue, the sighing of the tide comforting her as the rising sun warmed the bar.

In a while, Letí appeared from the kitchen. Cal straightened, overcome by the deepness of the smile etched into her face. She seemed different – warmer, with a pep in her step, and an enthusiasm in her eyes as she grabbed her apron and secured it around her front.

“Well, good morning to you.”

Letí snapped her head up. “Ah girl, I didn’t even see you there.” She leaned on the bar in front of Cal. “Que paso contigo, babe?”

“I should be asking you. You seem … awake.”

Letí giggled and shook her head. “I’m always awake.”

“Sorry, wrong word. You seem laid.”

Letí snapped a bar towel at Cal, who ducked with a laugh. “Pinche sucía, you gotta announce my shit to the world?”

“Who’s la sucía now, Letí?” Cal paused. “Wait, I don’t think that term applies if Russel’s involved. He’s like the opposite of sucío.”

“He’s like … everything.” Letí gripped the edge of the bar, beaming. “He’s the most genuine man I’ve ever met. Like, I just don’t even know how this fool’s single. It’s a damn shame.”

“Is he, though?”

Letí licked her lips. “I guess not,” she replied, her words quiet.

Cal’s smile softened. She placed a hand over Letí’s. “I’m really happy for you, Letí. If anyone deserves someone like him, it’s you.”

“Thank you.” Letí laced her fingers with Cal’s. “And Murdoc’s been with you?”

Cal nodded. “I think after that whole incident at the beach he’s been laying low because of Noodle.”

“Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Cal,” said Letí, the giddiness of her tone gone, “I want you to be alright. I really do. You’ve had some really good moments while he’s been here, and I know he has, too, but it’s been an ongoing conversation between Russel and me. Mostly because Russel’s concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

Letí released Cal’s hand and leaned on the bar on her elbows. “Don’t say anything, alright? You know those two don’t have a good track record, so keep that in mind.”

Cal moved closer to her, silent.

“They all see what you bring out in him. And I’ve seen what he’s brought out in you. You’re writing consistently, he’s being social, you’re both finding grooves again that you’d lost for a bit. But there’s still the fact that Murdoc doesn’t have a great record with women – no, make that _girlfriends_ – and Russel doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

Cal’s jaw tightened. “So what does that mean? I should just walk away?”

“No, mamí, no one’s saying that at all. In fact, everyone wants this to work out. I just think Russel’s being protective over you because he’ll never fully trust Murdoc. Murdoc’s done some shit in the past.” She quickly added, “Not that I’m trying to taint anything between you, but I’m just saying what he told me. Russel’s fought him before.”

“Fought him?”

Letí nodded. “He punched him because … well, when the band first got together, there was another guitarist. Some bitch named Paula. 2D’s girlfriend.”

Cal stared at her, her insides like stones.

“Well, you get it. Ever since then, Russel and Murdoc relationship’s been more or less professional. Although, I don’t necessarily see it like that. I think it’s deeper in some disturbed way but whatever. I think he’s just anxious because Murdoc’s never been as stable with anyone – and he has, Cal. I see it, and I had my initial reservations, only because no one will ever be good enough for you. But I also know that if Murdoc pulls any shit, you aren’t the type of girl who’ll roll over. I told Russ that, and I think he gets it. Like I said, you guys bring out something in each other that those before you didn’t. I think it’s because you’ve both found the depth you’ve been searching for, even if by mistake.”

Cal crossed her arms on the bar and glanced away.

“Cal, please –”

“No, I get it,” she remarked. “They leave in a few days.”

Letí nodded. “After the show.” She placed her hand on Cal’s arm. “Babe, I’m sorry. I’m not saying this to upset you. You want truth, and I can’t let you walk into something blind. I’m not saying he’s gonna do anything – fuck, Cal, we’re all rooting for you guys, even Russel, but as your best friend, I had to –”

“Thanks, Letí.” Cal slid off the stool and grabbed her laptop. “I’m really happy for you.”

Letí placed her hands on her hips and watched Cal move towards the entrance. “Cal,” she called firmly, “Don’t just walk away.”

Cal stopped, her hand on the door.

“We _all_ have demons, some worse than others. There’s no way around it, and you can’t always just walk away. Miguel ripped my heart out, and I hung it on the wall here as my most treasured piece of décor to remind him that _he_ walked away. No te vayas.”

Cal turned. “That’s the thing, Letí. I’m not scared he will. He’s used to walking away. I’m scared I won’t, and I’ll be the one fucked.”

“You love him.”

Cal gripped the door under white knuckles.

“I know you do. You would’ve walked away already if you didn’t. You never stay.”

Cal honed in on the accusative inflection of her last words. “There’s been no one worth staying for.”

Letí crossed her arms and ran her tongue behind her teeth. “That’s why I’m telling you this. I’ve seen the conflict, and while he may not have the most impressive background, that doesn’t mean the future can’t be different. Cal, you may not like everything you find out, but maybe you should really consider _not_ walking away this time. For his sake.”

“For _his_ sake?” she repeated.

“For once. Maybe he deserves a chance. Have you ever thought about that before leaving those other guys?”

“Letí, you’ve hated all of them. You practically begged me to dump Ryan,” Cal snapped. “And you said it, you weren’t so hot over Murdoc, either.”

“I told you, this is different. Maybe you’re both what you guys need, and that’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, until he fucking cheats on me or something. Forgets about me on tour.” Cal gritted her teeth. “I just … I need to go.”

“Cal, please. You of all people know life’s a bitch, but at some point, you have to fucking face it head-on. You can’t condemn the guy for a crime he hasn’t committed. I told you these things out of duty to our friendship. Of course I don’t want you to get hurt, but I also don’t want you to run away from something that may be the best thing that’s ever happened to you, not because of what he does for a living, but for what he brings out in you that I haven’t seen in a long time. You’re genuinely happy, inspired, and I’ve missed that girl for a while now. You deserve to be happy. So does he. And while I’m telling you to be careful, I’m also telling you to be careful with him, especially if you don’t like every truth you find out. For once, Cal, no te vayas, not only for you but for him, too.” She paused. “Nunca te he visto enamorado.”  

“ _Stop saying I’m in love_ ,” argued Cal. “You’re seeing what you want because of how you feel about Russel.”

“And you’re acting all chiquiada right now. It’s all complicated, it was never _not_ complicated. You’re gonna leave over that? Que la chingada, if that’s the case, keeping moving, sister, because it’s always going to be that way. That’s _real life_ , mamí. You should know that, you grew up con Don y Doña Rivera.”    

Cal eyed her a final time and pushed through the door.

* * *

Cal sat cross-legged on the damp grass, the remaining freshness of morning dew burning off as the sun made its official appearance in the east. Her jeans were damp but she ignored this discomfort of wetness. She held tightly to her journal with trembling hands, staring at Lily’s headstone through blurred eyes. When a tear finally fell, she swiped it away with the back of her hand, bowed her head and gathered her knees with her arms.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I know what I wanna do, tía, but gambling the rest of my life on a wild card is foolish. I’m a fucking fool, Lily. I thought this shit was supposed to be easier but I feel like a fucking child. Ya know, my sister, it all happened for her like how you read in fairytales. She played it safe and got it all, listened to my parents and is happy. But me, I chose pleasure over safety, wasted time on my interests and stupid boys, and am sitting in a cemetery fantasizing that my dead aunt can hear this pathetic bullshit that my life has become, all because the truth is killing me. He hasn’t even cheated on me yet, and I’ve already sentenced him.” Cal laughed bitterly. “Why is it so hard to be happy?”

“It’s scary, when I look at you, sometimes. It’s like looking into a mirror.”

Cal turned. Murdoc stood a few feet away, his hands in his jacket pockets as a car pulled away from the curb.

“I mean, not looks-wise, of course. No one could ever be as attractive as me.”

“You paid to come out here?”

He stepped onto the lawn and moved towards her. “When I woke up and you weren’t there, I checked at Letí’s. But she told me what she told you. And when neither of us found you at the beach, she told me you were probably here. So I came.”

“You didn’t call.”

“Would you’ve answered?”

“That was a lot of money for an Uber on just the chance you’d find me here.”

“Would it be cliché if I told you it was worth every penny?” He sat down next to her.

Cal bowed her head. “Don’t be mad at Letí.”

“Why should I be? She’s your best friend. I’m only upset you didn’t hear that from me first, and I’m the only one to blame for it. Of course, they’re all going to talk. I was an idiot to believe they wouldn’t. But I guess in a strange way it brings me comfort.”

“How so?”

“Well, they could easily not say anything at all. They could stay out of my business entirely. And yet, they don’t. They make my business theirs, even when I don’t like it or understand why. I guess that means something.”

“Like Letí telling me what Russel said. Because she’s my best friend.”

“Because she loves you.”

Cal looked at him. “Like they love you.”

Murdoc pulled at the grass, avoiding her eyes. “They’re a foolish lot.”

“We all are, striving to find happiness and then picking it to pieces once we do. It’s a fucking disease.”

“Well, not everyone gets dealt the best hand. But we’re supposed to play with it anyway or some bullshit like that. Something 2D’d say, I reckon. We all know how much that wisdom’ll get us.”

“He’s right, you know.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.” He finally looked at her. “Cal, I’ll never be an easy person to be around. I’ve a lot of faults, and they won’t vanish overnight. I’ve a lot of problems stemming from my childhood, shit that’s clung to me forever. I’ve told you my father was abusive. I still hear the bastard in my head. He’s always there, telling me exactly why I’ll never be happy. I’ve used women to try to silence him, my fame to try to stick it to ’im. I’ve been in a competition with him that I don’t even think he’s aware of, all in the name of trying to hurt the person who hurt me the worst. It’s something I’m ashamed to admit, because really all I’ve done is hurt myself. I’ve hurt everyone around me. I find the happiness of others and I destroy it, sometimes knowingly, other times not – doesn’t make it right, of course.

‘Yeah, I fucked Paula. Honestly, she was shit for 2D, a real hag. She was gonna break his heart regardless, but instead of going the Letí route about it, I acted upon it and ruined it for ’im. Russel was entirely justified in decking me the way he did. He’s always defended them from me. He’s been the glue for us, really. He’s the best father Noodle could’ve had, and the logical force guiding my recklessness and 2D’s childlike enthusiasm. I don’t know where I’d be without any of them, or if I’d even be here at all.”

Cal wrapped her hand around his but didn’t interrupt the flow of his words.

“I’m getting older, Cal, and with age comes that wisdom. Not in some socially spoon-fed dogma, but in a terrifying, mortal pragmatism. I’ve wasted a lot of time on anger and quick fixes, on ignoring solutions out of pride. And I’ve wasted time staying quiet with you when I should have said something. I talk so much, Cal, sometimes to a fault. I’m arrogant and uncouth, and very much in love with the spotlight … except when I’m with you. Maybe that’s what the band has noticed. The silence. The lack of antics. A different side of me, one that scares me because I’ve never seen it before – and a few months ago I thought there was nothing more to this old man. Well, how foolish I’ve been. The joke was on me the entire time.”

His grip tightened on her fingers. “I’ve never had a woman to depend on, Cal. The one woman who was supposed to teach me what it’s like wasn’t there. I don’t blame her for it. If she’s dead, I hope she’s found peace. If she merely left, it’s probably because she had to. I can’t imagine any sane woman staying with Sebastian, even for a child. And I find it hard to believe any sane woman would do the same for me. But in you I’ve found something wonderful and terrifying, and I haven’t the slightest clue what to do with it, and I guess what I’m trying to say is that I hope despite what you’ve heard about me that you’ll come to the show anyway. That these last few days together have been what we … deserve, I dare say. I don’t know what I do or don’t deserve, but I know being next to you makes me happy. Maybe happier than when I’m onstage. Not sure yet. Maybe if you come, I’ll know.”

Cal kissed her fingertips and placed them on Lily’s headstone. She then turned to Murdoc and opened her journal. She began to read:

_“Dear Lily, he’s coming to Venice today, and I don’t know how to feel about. It’s stupid. I feel like some dumb twenty-something meeting a hit she found on Match.com, as though his presence is going to change everything. I don’t ever wait for anyone like this. I didn’t cry over Ryan when it ended, except in anger that I hadn’t gotten out earlier. I knew from the beginning it was nothing, but I was comfortable and fell into some kind of routine. I was more ashamed than anything. And when I first met Murdoc at The Pig, I didn’t except much. He didn’t seem interested, not genuinely at least, like the way a drunk stranger is supposed to be. It’s no secret I’m dealing with shit, what with my boozed-up word vomity nature, so of course there’s a sexual attraction there. I want to bandage up my mistakes and as a man, he’d want to provide such comfort._

_‘It was supposed to end. It was supposed to be nothing more. We are two strangers at the end of the story, who happened to be in a particular place at a specific time. I could’ve easily let myself fall, but I was confident in my decision to carry on because I firmly believed that’s what he’d do. He doesn’t seem like the type of man to chase anybody, and that’s okay. I’m tired of chasing dead ends. And I’ve yet to meet anyone who makes me question my methods, anyway … until the fucker left his jacket for me in the cab. A stranger, with no obligation to me or even a hint of a chance that he might see me again, left a part of him in the front seat of some random cab, perhaps with hope that the cab driver was honest enough to bring it to my attention. And even if this wasn’t the case, it happened in exactly that way._

_‘But Lily, I haven’t heard much from him, even though I’m going to meet that stranger again. It drives me insane, which scares me. Even Let_ _í, whom I’ve been texting about this while she’s in the DR, is noticing. She says she’s never seen me so caught up over some ‘dick’ – her words, not mine – and we didn’t even sleep together. Part of me is happy about that. I’ve done that enough and not cared, so maybe this means something since I do for some reason. I keep thinking about his silence, stewing in it, but then remember he’s coming, and it burns into this juvenile excitement. I keep telling myself that it’s nothing, that he’s just an acquaintance who may or may not become a friend, and that I should be pissed at him for not always responding to my texts … but then I sit here and write his name to you, Lily. It comes up in my poems, in my journaling. He keeps coming up in every expression of my time abroad, the shortest aspect of my vacation. For fuck’s sake, we trashed a room in some condemned hotel like a bunch of bored teenagers – romantic, right?_

_‘Romantic._

_‘Fuck. He’s coming here tonight, Lily. I shouldn’t be excited but I am. I really fucking am. And I don’t know why. I guess I should let it be and see what happens, the way he did with his jacket, if that’s what he meant. I hope it’s what he meant. Because despite my annoyance at his quietness, I’m curious. I’m probably being stupid, but I haven’t been this happy to see anyone in a long time._

_‘In some strange way, it’s kind of like seeing you again. His passion for his art, the aloofness with which he carries himself, his unpopular opinions … sometimes he reminds me of you. It inspires me. I haven’t been inspired like this since you died. And I don’t want it to go away._

_‘Maybe this is your way of telling me I’ll be okay, that this isn’t the death of inspiration. That this isn’t the death of what little gifts life throws us occasionally. Maybe when he gets here, we’ll rekindle the enthusiasm we shared when we ran rampant through Stoke. Or maybe we won’t. Who knows? But as terrified as I am about it, I suppose I’ll give it a try. Leave a jacket in good faith. Learn a lesson. I know that’s what you’d do. You lived and died for honesty, for pain and pleasure. For love. You brought out the beauty in the ugliest of realities. Maybe I’ll find beauty, too.”_

Cal closed the journal and placed it on the headstone. “I understand completely.”

Murdoc wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Cal leaned into him, resting her head against him as her tears fell. Feeling her tremble, Murdoc took the side of her face and tilted it towards him, his palm wet from her skin. He kissed her, a gentle, undemanding, present kiss, reminding her that he was there with her.

“Thank you,” she told him when they’d pulled apart. “I promise, I’ll be there, Murdoc. I want to see you.”

He gave her a small smile. “I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, the elusive Chapter 11 has been posted and you've made it. Congrats to you. Still so much more to go! I hope everyone is enjoying it so far. It's been super fun to write this story, as long as it has become. 
> 
> As always, let me know if you have any concerns or questions, comments or what have you - I sincerely appreciate it all! Chapter 12 is undergoing the editing process, and I'll try to post it before the end of the year to close out Part II. A big shout out to my homie Robin for her editing input and all of the silly text convos we have as I bashfully review the initial chapter drafts - the glittery magic she adds to the mix polishes everything so nicely ;] 
> 
> I wish everyone a very happy holiday season and a great new year! <3
> 
> Chapter Playlist:  
> Lilium - "Sleep Inside"  
> Nine Inch Nails - "Leaving Hope"  
> Savages - "You're My Chocolate"  
> Low - "Lullaby"  
> The Doors - the entire Strange Days album, namely "You're Lost Little Girl," "Unhappy Girl"  
> Aphex Twin - "Stone in Focus"


	12. Chapter 12

The ride up to the Whiskey a Go Go felt longer than the hour it actually took with traffic. Letí noticed Cal’s uncharacteristic quietness the moment she knocked on her friend’s door. She figured Cal still felt awkward about their interaction at the bar the other day, despite them each apologizing for any hurt feelings the day after.

Normally, Letí would have given her a hard time over sulking, but the more she labored to make casual conversation, the more she realized Cal was acting differently. She was driving slower, fumbling a few times with the gear shift, and the radio was set low as she absently tapped at the wheel off rhythm. Letí asked her a couple times if she was okay and received the same curt “yeah, why?”

When Cal stopped at an intersection on a yellow light instead of blowing through it like she’d normally do, Letí finally turned to her with intense befuddlement.

“Alright, girl, _what is wrong_? And don’t give me that pinche _nothing_ mierda. Shit drives me _crazy_.”

“What?” Cal snapped, strangling the wheel between clenched fists. “I couldn’t make the light.”

Letí shook her head. “Try again.”

Cal shrugged. “What are you looking for, Letí?”

“A straight answer, Cal. Is it me? Are you still pissed at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Did Murdoc do something?”

“Of course not.”

“Your mom call?”

“Fuck no!”

“Well, _dime_! What is it?”

“That’s it, this is the end!” The words rushed from Cal’s mouth, surprising them both. “I’ll see him tonight, go to the show tomorrow and within twenty-four hours, he’ll be gone! It’s like Manchester all over again, except this time he isn’t some casual stranger. I’ve slept with him. I’ve got feelings for him now. He’s like an infection, Letí – _I can’t shake him, I think about him all the time._ ”

Letí’s lips curled.

“Don’t smirk like that, bitch, it’s freaking me out.”

Letí laughed. “I’ll smirk all I want. You act like we’re living in 1798 or something. You know planes and cell phones and Skype exist, right?”

“Murdoc hates flying.”

“Then _you_ go see him.”

“They’ll be on tour.”

“Look, I don’t wanna hear all that. If you want it to work, make it work. That’s it. There’s nothing else anyone can do for you.”

Panicked, Cal side-eyed her. “What are you and Russ gonna do?”

Letí turned fully to her. “Make it work.”

“You’re not scared?”

“Not in the slightest. We’ve already had this conversation. He and I are perfectly fine with it. We both have our own passions and can handle the distance. His time is more flexible than mine, so he’s decided that most of the traveling will be on his end. Although …” She hesitated, “Well, I’ve also been thinking that maybe … _just in case_ … promoting Carlito to assistant manager.”

Cal’s eyes widened.

“I mean, he’s a great employee and really takes pride in his work, and he cares about La fénix like I do. He knows what it could be.”

“He’s been there since the beginning,” added Cal.

“He has. He saw everything that happened between Miguel and I, and he’s helped me to get where I am. I really wouldn’t be where I am without Carlito. He’s a good man.”

Cal relaxed against the seat. “Damn, girl, that’s really good to hear. So if Carlito is the assistant manager does that mean you’ll be away more?”

Letí nodded. “I think maybe it’s time to focus on my present. I’m really happy right now, and I know I’ve said it before, but this is different. Russel’s a business man. He understands my obligations, but more importantly, he supports them. He wants my business to thrive because it makes me happy, and that in itself is something I’ve never had.”

Cal grabbed Letí’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“My point is, if you haven’t talked to Murdoc, you need to. This isn’t you, Cal, this moodiness. If you want this to be more than a summer fling, tell him. Woman up, you make him listen. Grab him by the cajones y dile lo que quieres. You owe it to yourself.”

Cal nodded and ran a hand over her bangs as they whipped in the late afternoon breeze. While she agreed with what Letí was saying, she couldn’t help the tightness that gripped her belly and her chest. Her muscles were tense, caught in the crossfire of excitement and terror, not only because of his departure tomorrow, but also for the veil that would fall surrounding his career. It was as though she was coming to the climax of a story that had captivated her with its tantalizing mystery, and she couldn’t put off the big reveal any longer.

The terror intensified as they parked and showed the two bulky security guards at the back of the Whiskey their IDs. She withstood their suspicious squints as they checked the IDs against what looked like a very short list affixed to a metal clipboard. After the guards scribbled “friend” next to each of their names, they opened the doors.

Letí grinned the whole way along the corridor, bouncing about at Cal’s side, her moist hand an anchor in a world that was starting to swim a bit around the edges. The band was shielded from view by a massive black partition that disappeared upward into the darkness, but they could hear 2D doing range exercises. Random guitar and bass riffs cut in and out, and then Murdoc’s voice berated a stage hand about his auxiliary cord.

Cal took a deep breath as the hall opened into the performance space. In the center of the venue was a small group of black folding chairs, two of them occupied by a couple of men with badges around their necks. One was doodling in an art book while the other stood with his hands on his hips, also yelling up at the stage about the cord, his English accent carrying through the room. Before either of them noticed the two women approaching, Russel’s voice bellowed over them all with the help of a mic.

“Ladies, you made it!”

2D chimed, “‘Ello, ’ello, _’elloooo_!”

Cal swallowed hard. The room went silent as the darkened space suddenly lit up under the stage lights, exposing them both to everyone in the room. To her right was the stage. Letí waved happily at the band.

“Sorry it took so long, you know this L.A. traffic.” She turned to the two men at the folding chairs expectantly. “The name’s Letí and this is my bestie, Cal. Mind if we sit?”

The one standing nodded and gestured to the chairs in front of them while the band came down from the stage and approached.

“Letí, Cal, may I present to you Damon Albarn,” 2D gestured to the man standing, “and Jamie Hewlett.” He swept his hand out at the man sitting, who promptly lifted his head and smiled. “Our dedicated music and stage managers.”

Letí eagerly shook their hands while Cal gave them a wave.

“Nice to meet you both,” said Damon. “Please, have a seat. We’re just working out some kinks for the moment. On the topic –” He curtly gestured for Jamie to follow, who rolled his eyes, and they headed to the stage to meet with two of the stage hands, a few “fucks” and “shits” ringing out after every other word.

“Come see our setup!” 2D seized Letí’s arm and pulled her towards the stage, Noodle and Russel following cheerily behind. Murdoc remained, his arms crossed over his bare chest, skin glistening under the hot lights.

Cal grinned and stepped towards him. “Is this your go-to wardrobe, Greenleaf – no shirt, just jeans?” She placed her fingertips on his inverted cross and then let them briefly slip down his moist skin before stuffing her hands into her hoodie pockets. The anxiety that had gripped her transformed into excitement as she drank him in, the backdrop of the space echoing his presence.

“While I do have a specific shirt in mind for tomorrow’s show, I’m sure it’ll come off at some point.” He moved close to her, placed his hands on her shoulders. “It gets hot in here.”

“It’s a good look on you,” she remarked, leaning into him.

“Glad to hear it. I drink _a lot_ to maintain this figure.”

Cal chuckled and poked him above his navel.

The distinct _thunk_ of a mic hitting the stage floor erupted from the speakers, and they both turned to see 2D scooping it up, his grin rueful as he proceeded to force it back into its stand.

“Seems we have an audience,” said Murdoc quietly to Cal. “Suppose that’s my cue.”

Cal gave him smile, and he turned away and walked back to the stage.

“‘Ave we got the ruddy cable situation handled?” Murdoc barked, returning to his bass.

“S’alright, Muds, carry on,” Damon told him, and the band resumed its position.

Cal, Letí, Damon and Jamie returned to the chairs and sat, Jamie opening his sketchpad again while Damon tapped away on his phone.

“You’re in a for treat,” he declared in Letí and Cal’s direction without looking up from his phone screen. “They’re either gonna play their brains out or fight the entire time. Regardless, it’ll be quite the show.”

“Yeah, and tonight’s looking like the latter,” added Jamie as he carried on doodling. “We’ve bought out the bar, though, so help yourselves.”

Letí dragged Cal to the bar and they both grabbed a couple of beers. The amplified noises of tuning instruments became the venue’s soundtrack until 2D announced that they’d start with a song called “5/4” to warm up. In her uncomfortable folding chair, Cal tapped her tight and nodded her head along to the upbeat music. A couple of times Letí sang along, but Cal gave her a shrug when Letí gave her a raised eyebrow, asking without words if she knew the song. The music stopped after a short set, and 2D commented on the pacing before grabbing the mic and asking how the girls were doing.

“Cal, is any of this familiar?” he queried, beaming down at them.

Cal shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know any of these songs.”

2D looked back at Murdoc. “Shall we try ‘Dirty Harry’?”

They started up again, all watching Cal expectantly. At the end of it, Cal returned their looks with pursed lips and a shrug.

“I’m sorry, guys. But it sounds great!”

Murdoc ran a hand over his face while Noodle stared down at her, amazed.

“Let’s do ‘Dare’,” she suggested.

They played “Dare” and Cal enjoyed the song but still didn’t know it.

“This is quite the challenge,” remarked 2D as he scratched his head. “Alright, let’s bust out the big guns.” He gave Russel a nod, and Russel slammed on the cymbals to begin the next song.

Cal waited a moment, the steady beat vaguely familiar. Her mouth opened and she snapped her head up as 2D started to sing. Jumping up, she exclaimed, “ _Oh, oh!_ It’s that sunshine in a bag song – I _know_ this one!”

The band stopped, 2D’s eyes wide. “You know this one?”

“Yes! Yes! I use to hear it on the radio a lot!”

Letí laughed. “Okay, and who’s the band?”

Cal bit her lip. “Well … I mean I know some of the lyrics but …” She paused. “Something like ‘Eastwood,’ I think?”

“‘Clint Eastwood’s’ the name of the song,” laughed 2D.

“We’re bloody Gorillaz,” Murdoc said into the mic. Noodle and Russel laughed.

“You’re Bloody Gorillas, or is that more of your wonky British slang?” Cal clapped back.

“ _Gorillaz_ , sweetheart. My greatest contribution to the redefinition of the music industry.”

“Gorillaz – _right_ ,” said Cal, playfully unimpressed, and she plopped back down in the chair. Letí chuckled at her side. “But hey, I know the song so I get points for that.”

Murdoc shook his head. “Will one of you please educate this unprivileged American by giving her a copy of _Humanz_ so she won’t come to the show tomorrow completely lost?”

“Honey, you’ve had several opportunities to ‘educate’ me and I’m still waiting to be impressed.” She cocked an eyebrow at him, smirking.

Murdoc ran his tongue over his teeth. “Right. Shall we continue, minus the intrusion from the Peanut Gallery?”

They went through “Clint Eastwood” and other selections from their discography. Cal and Letí watched, intrigued as the band slipped out of their singular identities and become Gorillaz. Cal could tell by the way Murdoc glanced at her every now and again that he was very much aware of her presence despite his effort to be oblivious and committed to the music. It was as though any time he lost himself in a riff, hands working furiously over the strings as he bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes would catch hers and he’d suddenly become aware again, and the hardness of his rock star persona would soften, a shroud of coyness crossing his face. He’d then turn away in an effort to regain his composure, and the cycle would be again.

Onstage, Murdoc felt the weight of her eyes on him as he paraded around, cradling El Diablo by its body and neck. The feeling of being judged was familiar, but it didn’t carry the same stigma it had in his youth. He was his own person choosing to move without strings, choosing to entertain for himself, without worry of violent repercussions should he miss a note or trip over a cable – which he _wouldn’t_.

His craft was his passion, and he took it very seriously. The gaze that pursued him wasn’t heavy with intoxication and belligerent disapproval; it rang with awe, with care, and pleasure, throwing Murdoc off and leaving him craving more at the same time. He found himself tripping and making mistakes after all, and only for an ingrained moment did he wait for that familiar drunken sneer to lash out from the floor, verbally whipping him for his inadequacy. But it didn’t come.

He relaxed as the music the band created inspired clapping from the folding chairs and broad grins from Cal and Letí as they kept the beat in their own ways. After all, he was Murdoc fucking Niccals – this was his stage, his show, and he commanded it all.

He felt Cal’s gaze soften as they transitioned into “Tomorrow Comes Today.” He didn’t realize it at first, but as the music slowed, Murdoc suddenly heard every word encapsulated in 2D’s powerful voice, and guiltiness welled up inside him.

“ _I don’t think I’ll be here too long/ Yeah yeah yeah/ I’ll pay/ When tomorrow/ Tomorrow comes today._ ’”

_Fuck._

It was the first time the words had hit him this hard, and as soon as they ended the rehearsal and had hashed out some final details with the stage crew, Murdoc donned his worn AC/DC muscle tee and headed to the floor where the girls sat chatting with Damon and Jamie.

“Hey!” Cal greeted him, getting excitedly to her feet. “That was awesome!”

“Thanks,” he replied. “Shall we head to Letí’s then?”

Letí moved next to Cal. “Of course, viejito. I think you all deserve a drink. Let your crew know they’re invited, too.”

Cal stared up at him, sensing his urgency. “You okay?” she asked, her tone soft.

His lips tumbled over each other and his eyes avoided hers. “Just a bit tired is all. Lots to do.”

Cal nodded. “I don’t know how everyone else is getting to the bar, but do you want to ride with me?”

He nodded. “I’ll have a smoke first.”

Against the railing out back, Murdoc watched the Gorillaz team disperse, all curious and ready to drink the rest of the evening away. Letí and Russel opted to drive one of the vans to assist with directions while 2D and Noodle hopped into the back of Cal’s Wrangler, eager to get back to the coast. He watched Cal slip into the front seat while he squashed his used cigarette butt into the chilled railing. He knew that she was aware that he was off, and as much as he tried to play it off, he couldn’t. This bothered him greatly.

With the breeze chilling his bare arms, Murdoc hurried to the Jeep, and climbed into the passenger seat. 2D wedged himself between the front seats to switch the radio on, the Bluetooth connecting to Cal’s phone. Third Eye Blind’s “I Want You” poured from the speakers as they pulled away, Noodle and 2D speaking excitedly about the show.

Murdoc couldn’t decipher any of it. Instead, he allowed the melody to consume him, mooring himself to the present by silently taking Cal’s hand and holding it over the gear shift.

* * *

The group took up most of the tables and booths along one side of the bar. Upon arrival, Letí went into hostess mode, giving her staff directions and helping them bring out drinks and appetizers. Russel also stepped in, assisting Letí where she needed it, much to her relief and joy. 2D and Noodle grabbed a bunch of the team and brought them out to the dance floor, 2D already on music detail. The regulars enjoyed it, and in no time, people congregated to snap pictures and get autographs.

The enthusiasm of the night filled the colorful space, bringing to it a different kind of life that gripped Murdoc between icy hands. No, La fénix wasn’t the type of bar he’d frequent back home but it was a bar he’d grown to associate with something else, something foreign yet inviting. It was comfort, he decided, when he couldn’t find the right word. It had to be comfort, even though he didn’t know the meaning, but he assumed it was because for once, everything felt right.

He sat at a table sipping on a tall glass of whiskey, amused by 2D and Noodle dancing, by Russel and Letí donning matchin aprons (Russel’s too small for his wide frame) and by his management and stage team bantering over football scores and the other nonsense they fed upon to keep themselves energized for work. People crowded the space with the same idea, invigorated by the music (2D put on the _Humanz_ album with Letí’s blessing), compelled by the alcohol, the combination inciting a joyous celebration over nothing and everything simultaneously.

And it always came to this, Murdoc realized: him drowning amongst the festivities, unable to break the surface, to simply _fit in_. He’d found the comfort component of it all, but the happiness was out of reach again, because the woman who sat beside him already felt thousands of miles away. He’d hoped to drown this foreboding with booze, but even that was failing him.

Murdoc groaned. He felt Cal’s fingers on his bicep.

“Are you alright?”

“It’s just loud,” he said, returning his gaze to the dance floor.

“We can take a walk if you want.”

Murdoc turned to her, his heart pounding relentlessly. “Cal … could we go to your place?”

She took a long swallow of her beer, set it down abruptly and nodded.

They walked the strand in silence, the world around them whirring past, callously obliterating every shared second. His skin itched with conflicting desires: to walk beside her forever, and to be along with her. After what felt like a century of walking, Cal unlocked the front door and let them in, closing it behind her.

Wasting no time, Murdoc took her around the waist and locked his mouth on hers, kissing her with gentle fervor. He backed her against the door, pressed himself against her as she wound her fingers through his hair, letting her feel how hard he was.

The sour taste of Corona lingered on Cal’s tongue, but he could endure it easily for a chance to be inside her in some way, and he gripped her hips as though trying to hold on to sand in an hourglass. Breaking from her mouth, he kissed down her neck, sucking at her skin, and drawing breathy gasps from her.

Releasing his hair, Cal moved her hands down his front, fumbling with the hem of his shirt, and Murdoc’s lips relinquished contact with her throat to allow it to be pulled over his head. Murdoc wrapped his arms around her and picked her up, and Cal wrapped herself around him as he lifted her, carrying her to the bed. He laid her back and knelt over her, stripped off her shirt and planted kisses along her stomach, cupping a hand over one of her breasts. She giggled at the tickle of his stubbled chin and ran her fingers through his bangs.

Murdoc surged up to stretch himself alongside her. Grinning, he kissed her again and held her tightly, inhaling the soft scent of cigarette smoke and the milky vanilla lotion she’d applied earlier. Impatient and eager, he guided her hands down to his jeans where she tugged free the button and slid down the zipper. He slipped out of them and tossed them off the bed. On his knees again, he did the same to her, throwing her jeans aside as he hovered over her.

Murdoc’s mind raced as he studied her, laid almost bare before him He didn’t want to be aggressive. He didn’t want her to pull his hair, nor did he want to bite her or anything of the sort. He wanted to caress her soft skin with tender fingers, to hear her moan softly into his ear and feel the warmth of that moan against his cheek; to whisper to her how beautiful she was, and to tell her how the idea of tomorrow terrified him to no end.

But none of those words were given voice. Instead he descended, catching her lips with his once more, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him close, as he worked their remaining garments off and slipped inside her.

She was warm and wet and welcoming, and she drew in a sharp breath as he pushed inward to her limit, assertive but not dominating. Cal sensed this difference in him, and when she moved her hands to grip him around the base of his neck, she caressed instead of squeezing, holding his gaze as they fell into a deep, steady rhythm.

She didn’t peg him as someone who lingered in the missionary position – he was more creative than that – but as he moved his body against hers in calculated, passionate thrusts, his tired eyes drinking in every detail of her face, Cal realized that Murdoc wasn’t trying to simply get off. He was internalizing every detail of her and opening himself to her in return.

 _This is it_.

The unspoken words gnawed at her, igniting tears that soon spilled down her cheeks and threw hitches into her hushed moans. He respected her distress by refusing to acknowledge it, kissing into her neck, hiding away from reality as she wrapped her limbs around him and came with a quieter moan than usual.

The hotness of her breath caught him behind the ear, triggering goosebumps down his neck and fanning the glow that was growing at the base of his spine into white-hot flames. He allowed himself one final thrust into her moist heat before separating their hips just enough to spill onto the sheet, still pinning her with his torso.

After any other random fuck, he would’ve made a crude joke about it to take the edge off, but this was Cal. She shuddered within his grip and instead of looking her in the eye, he laid his head on her chest and allowed her to drape an arm around him, the other covering her face. Her chest rose and fell in an erratic rhythm under his cheek. In an effort to ease her, he traced random patterns onto her skin with his fingertips. She was rigid against him, her tears quiet, and he said nothing.

 _What can you say?_ Reality asked him. _There’s nothing that can stop that plane from leaving tomorrow. You’ve obligations, fans to wow, a lifestyle to maintain. Comfort isn’t an option on the road. This life doesn’t exist. Best to let it fade out._

_She wouldn’t give this up for you, anyway._

Murdoc looked around. Suddenly Russel and Noodle and 2D were there, all of them watching him with disconcerted expressions.

“Who are you listening to?” asked Noodle.

Murdoc blinked. “I wasn’t. Was just thinking.”

“Whose thoughts, Rōjin? Whose dogma?”

“Mine, I suppose.”

Noodle shook her head. “That voice doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Sounds angry,” remarked 2D, gripping his arms fearfully. “It scares me.”

“How can you hear …?”

“It’s competing with us,” came Russel’s baritone words. “It’s bullshit, Muds. You wanna base your life on bullshit? Even _you’re_ smarter than that.”

“How’re you all ’ere?” Murdoc asked them. His words were weak and he couldn’t find the strength to lift his head or wave them away.

“You told us to come,” explained Noodle. “We won’t stay but I needed to tell you something important before everything ends.”

“Oh fuck … the plane’s going to crash, isn’t it? I fucking hate flying …”

“Unfortunately, no. I’ve a feeling we’ll all be around for a long while.” Noodle sighed. “But what I need to tell you is you think planes create distance. They do. As do work and cars and responsibilities. And silence. Silence causes the greatest distances sometimes. So be careful, Rōjin. You don’t know how far your heart can stretch because you’ve never tried, but it’s a strong muscle, even for someone who’s abused it the way you have. The greater the silence, the farther you must make your heart stretch. Are you able to withstand such a reach?”

Murdoc blinked and his eyes refocused on the empty room. Cal was under him, and he lifted his head to find her hand still draped across her face, her breathing steady as she slept, her freckles vibrant against her still-flushed cheeks.

Murdoc picked himself up, accidently waking Cal, who jumped up and grabbed his arm out of reflex.

“Sorry,” she gasped, “I think I fell asleep.”  
“I think we both did.”

She eyed him in his seated position, betrayed. “Are you leaving?”

Murdoc offered her a small smile and touched the side of her face, smoothing his thumb over her freckles. “Was gonna use the loo, actually.”

Cal’s features softened and the corner of her mouth upturned.

“I’d like to stay with you tonight, Cal,” he told her. “I’ll have to leave in the morning, though. We’ve a few shoots and some interview nonsense.”

She nodded.

“But you’ll be there tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You and Letí’ll have passes that let you backstage and you’ll be in the wings during the show.”

“I won’t have to fight anyone for you in general admission?”

“I made it a point to keep you safe from the Murdoc Niccals fan club.”

“That’s nice of you. I’d really hate to cut a bitch over you, Niccals.”

“But you’d do it, though?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Aw, how adorable.” He smirked. “You’ve fallen in love with me, haven’t you?”

Cal cocked an eyebrow. “Go take a piss, asshole.”

He stood and stretched. “I’m telling you, I know that journal of yours is bursting with pledges of your undying passion for me, your name scribbled with mine.”

Cal grabbed a pillow and threw it at his back. “It’ll mean nothing come tomorrow night against all of the cardboard signs asking you in rainbow glitter to fuck them.”

“Oh, so you’ve been to a Gorillaz show then.” He pissed with the door open. “Won’t matter anyway,” he called from out of sight, “I’ll be heavily distracted.”

Cal gathered her knees to her chest as the toilet flushed and watched him reemerge after the bathroom sink went on and then off after a few moments. “By the stage lights, Niccals? Your face on the big screens, looming over us peons like the rock god you are?”

Grinning, Murdoc returned to the bed and plopped down beside her. Brushing her lips with his fingers, he said seriously, “Actually, by who’s standing in the wings.”

Cal’s lips curved along her face. She scooted down against him and pressed her mouth to his.

* * *

 Murdoc approached the group as they stood center stage at the Whiskey a Go Go, makeup artists applying final touches to 2D and Noodle’s faces.

“Wow, man, you look like shit,” chuckled Russel as Murdoc climbed the stage and adjusted the sunglasses on his face.

“Well good fucking morning to you, too, Russ,” Murdoc groaned.

“And you’re on time.” Russel looked up from his watch. “Can I rephrase my initial greeting? You look like _glowing_ shit.”

2D laughed and then sneezed as his artist attempted to powder his nose. “Were you with Cal, Muds?”

“Obviously, if I wasn’t at the apartment.”

“Speaking of, you’ll need to pack up your stuff before the show tonight,” said Noodle. “We’re already moved out.” She glanced in the hand mirror her artist handed her and then gave him a thumb’s up. “But I’m glad you spent the night with Cal.” She smiled sweetly at him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I already told her I won’t call her Stepmother, though.”

Murdoc rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and gave her a brief pat on the head. “No one’s calling anyone _mother_ , kid. Let’s just focus on the fucking show, yeah? That’s the most important thing right now.”

“Is it though?” questioned Russel as he grabbed a couple of stools and took a seat on one, offering Noodle the other.

Murdoc was seized by a makeup artist who pulled his sunglasses away. She paused.

“Are you high?” she whispered.

Murdoc tensed. “ _High_? Why the bloody hell would you ask me that? And what’s it to you, anyway? I’ve been getting high and going on stage since before you were a swimmer in your dad’s nutsack – what difference does it make whether I’m bloody high or not?”

Eyes widening, she stepped back, dangling his sunglasses in fear between pinched fingers. “I’m terribly sorry Mr. Niccals.”

“Christ, Murdoc, your eyes _are_ quite red. It was an honest question. Lay off,” chided Noodle.

“Are you ’igh, though?” asked 2D. “You look it. Do we need to get you comment cards again?”

“Remember how well it worked that one time, D?” Russel eyed 2D, and they both snickered.

“ _Fuck you both_ ,” spat Murdoc as he crossed his arms. “You bloody know _I didn’t know_ the weed was laced, you took advantage, giving me cue cards with fucking Britney Spears lyrics on ’em.”

“I heard Graham Norton still makes jokes about you being a slave for him,” Noodle commented with a straight face.

Russel and 2D erupted in laughter. Murdoc groaned.

 “ _You_ – makeup lady – no more silly questions, just do what you must so I can be done with it.”

Murdoc avoided the curious glances from the band while the young woman nervously evened out the color under Murdoc’s eyes. He hadn’t felt this hot under the stage lights since he was a kid. But this discomfort was different. He felt naked in front of them all, which generally wouldn’t have been an issue (aside from Noodle’s presence); Russel and 2D had seen him in the buff on countless occasions, fueled by booze and other substances, but nakedness of the flesh and nakedness of the mind were two very different types of nudity.

When the artist was done, Murdoc plucked the sunglasses from her and returned them to his face, taking the open stool between 2D and Noodle as the camera crew finished setting up.

“It’s gonna be alright, Muds,” whispered 2D out of the side of his mouth.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Faceache.”

“You’ve done this loads of times.”

“Yeah, usually it’s wham, bam, have a nice life woman whose name I can’t remember. But … it’s different. She’s different. Or perhaps I’m just getting old and am terrified of existence alone. And then there’s the fact that I _am_ old and she’s younger and she lives in a city bursting with handsome pieces of shit strutting about. I mean, fuck, 2D, what chance do we even ’ave? I’m not the committed type. I’ll only break her heart or she’ll rightly break mine by finding someone younger and better looking, and who probably likes to surf. And you know me, I’m not really into that sort of thing.”

Noodle side-glanced Murdoc. “Stu’s referring to this interview, Rōjin,” she told him delicately.

Murdoc’s lips parted and his body became stone upon the stool. “Well, fuck.”

“Are you talking about Cal?” 2D’s eyes widened.

Murdoc grimaced at him. “Just shut it, alright? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your bloody trap closed.”

“Newsflash, dumbass, I heard all that on this end, too,” remarked Russel. “Goddamn, Muds. It’s like Christmas. You’re on time, you’re swooning over a _good_ woman and the cherry on this cake: you’re sober. Did she fuck the demons outta you?”

Noodle gasped and smacked Russel on the thigh as he chuckled heartily. “Look, I’m well aware that we _all_ have sex lives but _please_ , these are visuals I’d prefer _not_ to have burned into my brain.”

“Sorry Noodle Bowl.” Russel wiped at his eyes. “I saw a chance and I took it. Maybe those _exercised_ demons floated this way?”

He and Noodle laughed, 2D joining in a few moments later as he figured out the joke. Murdoc dug his nails into his thighs, shielded eyes on the floor as the interviewer took a seat in front of them. The group greeted him and he introduced himself, gave the camera operator the signal to begin, and started asking them questions Murdoc couldn’t hear.

Instead, he wondered what Cal was doing at that moment – had she gone back to bed, or was she out for a jog? Was she writing and sipping on that harsh black coffee she claimed she needed to function, or had she found sanctuary in a breakfast burrito at Letí’s?

Had she seen him have a good cry early this morning as he laid next to her, thinking her to be asleep?

He didn’t know the answer to any of those questions, and when the nameless interviewer caught his attention with “You’re unusually quiet, Murdoc – have you enjoyed your holiday on the lovely Southern Californian coast?”, Murdoc snapped his head up and replied, “She’s lovely.”

The interviewer was taken aback by the answer, silently calculating as he read further into it than Murdoc wanted. 2D quickly derailed him.

“It’s a Murdoc thing, applying gender pronouns to inanimate objects, like he’s assigned my toothbrush as a man because he says me and it are interchangeable. I beg to differ, my ’air isn’t a spiky pink. In this instance, though, _she_ being the Southern Californian coast, in which I ’afta agree wif Muds, she’s a beaut in my opinion.”

Swallowing the offered bait, the interviewer directed his next question back at 2D. “Could you see the band being here permanently?”

“Well, we’ve lived in Los Angeles before and it wasn’t entirely our cuppa tea – if you can call the swill they serve ’ere ‘tea’ – but Venice and Santa Monica – that’s where we stayed – they’ve been good to us. I could definitely see us coming back for ’oliday or work. Maybe shoot a music video or something.” He carefully turned his head towards Murdoc, who mirrored him. Murdoc offered him a curt nod at which 2D smiled.

“Lots of great food,” Murdoc offered.

“Yes!” both Russel and 2D chimed.

“There’s a great spot in Venice called La fénix that serves excellent Dominican and Mexican dishes, and has a dancefloor as well,” explained Russel. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll treat yourself and check it out.”

“The beach was really fun, too,” added Noodle.

“In Santa Monica?” asked the interviewer.

“No, Venice.”

The interviewer nodded, eying the group curiously. “Going back to La fénix, I heard you threw a party there.”

“It was a belated birthday party for us, yes,” answered 2D. “We met a lot of fun people.”

“Why that spot specifically?”

“Like Russ said, it ’as a lot to offer, and because Venice is full of fun people. Wouldn’t you want to party with fun people?”

The interviewer chuckled politely. “Well, of course. I’m just curious why an internationally established band like Gorillaz would spend all of their time in a hole-in-the-wall place like Venice, and not live it up in a suite at the Ritz in Downtown L.A. as you’ve done in the past?”

 “Who wants to be cooped up in a suite when this city so full of culture, culture stemming from everyday people?” Noodle asked him. “There was a bit more of humanistic side to this trip. Personal. It wasn’t for anything tour-related or promotional. It was solely for us.”

“What makes Venice Beach so personal to you, a British band?”

The group was quiet for a moment as they each considered the safest explanations. Murdoc licked his lips, the weight of it all finally getting to him.

“Ya see … uh, I can’t remember your name, but, Venice is – she’s a different kind of place entirely from any other place I’ve been. It was originally 2D’s idea to come here, but I _personally_ found Venice to be full of inspiration, full of fun and honest moments, and yes, she’s quirky but she’s original and ’as soul. It’s hard to find places like that anymore. Everything’s become so trendy and without substance. Venice is exactly what it is, with its flaws and perfection, not trying to compete with anything else, and I think this holiday is what we’ve needed. It’s what I’ve needed, anyway.”

“It’s been a great way to recharge the batteries,” agreed Noodle. “Which I think will greatly influence the rest of this tour.”

“Venice has been a home away from home,” Russel said.

“Still with family.” 2D stared down the row of stools, his smile broad. “I think this time’s given us all a little perspective. It’s certainly given TMZ something to photograph.”

“Yeah, plenty of shots of 2D in his blasted Speedo,” Murdoc snickered.

“I’m just giving the people what they want.”

“What you _think_ they want.” Noodle rolled her eyes.

Russel crossed his arms. “Sadly, they probably do want it.”

They all laughed.

* * *

 It should’ve felt the way it always did whenever Murdoc shut the door to another vacated hotel or apartment space for the last time, but it didn’t. A couple of crew members assisted him with his luggage as they made their way down to the street where a chauffeured van sat – for the first tinme in a while, not an Uber or a Lyft. They addressed him as Mr. Niccals.

Everything about him had shifted, as it always did when work started up again, and he usually looked forward to it. Like Russel, he felt his best keeping busy with the music and brainstorming with the band and management on where Gorillaz should go next with their career, so as he shifted from holiday mode into working mode, Murdoc should’ve felt that familiar sense of ease. Instead, he boarded the van and stared blankly out the window towards the Ferris Wheel at Pacific Park. The lights of the pier had yet to come on as the late afternoon sun clung desperately to the sky in bursts of gold and pink. It would have to give in eventually and sink below the horizon, but before Murdoc could offer it solace, the van pulled away and the pier, the apartment and the coast dimmed from view behind him.

He focused on his phone, where text messages from the crew and the band came in with the regular post-holiday fervor. 2D started a group chat to announce that the caterer had already arrived and that they needed to try the chicken nuggets – ‘ _Sublime!_ ’ he added and sent a selfie with the nuggets.

Murdoc resisted the urge to ask them if the girls had arrived. Instead, he sent 2D a gif of a middle finger and then asked if the stage was prepped.

Upon arrival, Murdoc was promptly swept up by the pre-show rush, everyone bustling about as time ticked away the hour and half before the doors were set to open. Murdoc changed into a pair of combat boots and threw on black jeans and a black undershirt, and placing his Muir-style cap with a skull patch across the front upon his freshly combed hair.   

“Hey, leather daddy.”

Murdoc whipped around. Cal stood in the doorway of the dressing room holding a single red rose. She wore his leather jacket over black skinny jeans, black Chuck Taylors and an Ozzy Osbourne tee. Her hair was tied up in a high, messy ponytail. It took everything within him to keep from seizing her. She looked so perfect, framed in the doorway, her smirk subtle and _her_.

“I believe you’re the one in leather, love.” He leaned against the counter, giving her elevator eyes.

“But you’re wearing the hat,” she countered, moving into the room. “Or you’re a closet Nazi.” She glanced around the room. “In which case I’d have to leave.”

He held out his hands and she walked into his grip. “I’m not. I’m simply Murdoc.”

She twirled the rose before his face. “Maybe not so simple anymore.”

“What’s this?”

“For you.”

Murdoc took the rose.

“I’m not sure what the accepted token of good luck is in the big leagues, but in high school, people got flowers before they’d go onstage.”

“Intriguing,” he said, brushing the velvet petals across her cheek. “You would’ve been enough, though.”

Cal planted a kiss on his mouth. “Well, I’m here.”

Murdoc tucked the rose behind his ear and wrapped his arms around Cal as she laid her head against his chest.

“I’m not gonna be sad, Niccals. I’m gonna enjoy the show and it’s gonna be awesome.”

“There’s no need to be sad,” he agreed. “We’re both right here, right now. It’ll be a real kick-ass show, Cal, I promise.” He tightened his grip. “It’ll be real nice to have you there, watching. It’s not something I’m used to.”

“I don’t know, I’m thinking I may need to be in the crowd so I can start a mosh pit and get out some of this pent up aggression.”

He chuckled and ran a hand over the side of her head, giving her pony tail a little tug. “You’re gonna get me all hot and bothered.”

She craned her neck to look up at him. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Murdoc swallowed hard, gave her a peck on the forehead and dropped his arms, taking her hands in his.

“Absolutely not,” he admitted, the humor gone from his face. “But …”

Cal waited for a moment and then smiled sadly. Nodding, she whispered, “No complications.” She released his hand and brushed his lips with her thumb. “It’s all complicated, though, isn’t it? We’re fools for believing life could be that way, especially with our histories.”

Murdoc took her hand back and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Concert first, love. We’ll talk after.”

She bit her lip, her eyes shimmering, and gave him a wink. “Liar.” Cal shoved her hands in her pockets and backed away. “I’m gonna go check out those chicken nuggets 2D was gushing over. You wanna come or …?”

“I’ve, uh, got some pre-show rituals …”

Cal nodded. “Right. Well … knock ’em dead, Niccals. I’ll be here.”

Murdoc offered her a small smile and watched her turn and stalk out the dressing room. It didn’t feel good, watching her go, but he knew before the end of the night their roles would be reversed, and he wasn’t prepared for the impending guilt. He grabbed El Diablo and strummed and paced, reminding himself that first and foremost, he was Murdoc Niccals, founding father of Gorillaz, and no matter what happened that night, nothing would change that. His title was what he wanted, what he needed – everything else was expendable.

* * *

 From the wings, the show was incredible. Cal and Letí were astounded by the energy and excitement the crowd had for the band, which was reciprocated by everyone onstage as they played harder and with rekindled emotion, 2D, Noodle and Murdoc worked every side of the stage while Russel commanded the crowd’s attention from the center.

The people onstage only _looked_ like the ones they’d spent the past month getting to know; each of them now revealed a different entity shining forth from inside, preaching their catchy dogma to their faithful disciples. The crowd itself was a blend of these other personalities, creating a heady stew that brewed offstage over the amped-up burner that was Gorillaz. Other collaborators came and went as well, offering their energy to the mix while Cal and Letí kept the tempo by nodding and clapping, Letí singing along to the songs she knew.

As entertaining as the entire scene was, Cal’s attention lingered on Murdoc. Sure, he was older than them all, and some of the selections they performed would have seemed to not be his genre, but he was just as invested in the music as the rest of them as he thrashed at his bass and drank in the adoration from his fans.

Arms crossed, Cal caught sight of a few ‘Marry me Murdoc’ and ‘Fuck me Muds’ signs, and one which requested something special of his tongue (complete with a glittery red tongue to emphasize the point). She giggled and pointed them out to Letí, who laughed. There were other signs directed at the other members or at the band as a whole, but the most surreal ones to see were the ones dedicated to Murdoc – someone with whom she’d shared food and poetry and her body. Someone she’d ran around Stoke and Venice with, who’d seen her at her drunkest and with whom she’d argued.

 _“I’m simply Murdoc,”_ he’d told her.

_Definitely not so simple._

If he had any qualms about what was coming after the show, they didn’t show at all. He was committed to his persona and that persona was committed to him, or maybe that persona wasn’t a persona at all – perhaps this _was_ him. His entire existence was on display, finally, and Cal watched, drowning in the excitement and fear of naked reality.

Sure, she and Murdoc had a wonderful time together. He seemed happy about it. But onstage, there was no denying his feelings regarding what he drank in from the crowd, the worship he devoured, the passion he exuded as all of his being gave everything back. He was home.

Right before the end of the show, Jamie found Letí and Cal and ushered them out back, explaining that if they were going to see them off, they’d need to be in the van so that the band could hop in and leave before any fans interrupted the departure process.

“If I drive, could you give me access to the terminal?” asked Cal, looking between Jamie and the van. “I don’t wanna leave my Jeep.”

“We’re leaving out of a private terminal at LAX. Here’s my number. Text me so I ’ave yours and I’ll make sure you both’re able to say your proper goodbyes.” Jamie handed her his card. “It’s best you head that way now. It’ll be a madhouse here in a few minutes.”

Letí grabbed Cal’s hand and they ran around the building to the Wrangler. Cal navigated out of the parking lot and hopped on the 10 towards the 405. The long stretch of freeway was already congested.

Letí turned up the radio and danced in the passenger seat, her hair catching the breeze through the Wrangler’s open top. Cal eyed her sideways, feigning a smile every time Letí playfully bumped her, silently envious of her exhilaration.

Letí and Russel wouldn’t be saying goodbye. This transition was a celebration, a new beginning for them both. As much as Cal wished that what she and Murdoc had was the same, there was no point in pretending. Neither of them had the courage to confess their honest desires, assuming he had any. It was better to accept the reality and move on.

Back at the Whiskey, Murdoc hurried behind the others as they filed into the van. Upon taking his seat, he noticed that it was only them, Jamie, Damon and their driver inside.

“Where’re the girls?” he questioned, glancing out the windows.

“Relax, Muds,” said Russel. He smirked towards Noodle, who shook her head, amused. “They’re already on their way to the airport.” He turned around on the bench. “But if you’d like to confirm, go ahead and text your girlfriend for reassurance.”

Murdoc rolled his eyes. “I’m a little old for _girl_ friends, Russ.”

“Text your lady-friend, then,” 2D suggested. “Also tell them there’s an accident along the ’ighway. Siri just let me know. Oh, and that if they wanted any of the remaining nuggets, they’re gone.”

Murdoc shook his head. “I’m not texting ’em _that_ , you blimey twat. We’ll just see them when we get there.” He crossed his arms and sat back against the bench, staring out the window at the bronze haze the streetlamps cast onto the road.

They found themselves in the expected traffic along the 405. The stop-and-go was excruciating and endless. Excuse after excuse that Cal might offer crossed his mind, and with each one, he felt guiltier. Russel and Noode, in the seat in front of him, both seemed excited to be back in the swing of things, already talking about places they wanted to go while on the road. Even 2D seemed overly giddy as he gushed to Jamie and Damon about how well the show had gone. All the while, Murdoc’s jaws clamped tighter, his muscles straining as the van brought him closer to the inevitable.

In a haze, Murdoc realized that they had pulled into a private lot outside of LAX. He followed them out of the van and into a golf cart that shuttled them towards their terminal, all his movements mechanical.

_What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you really expect this to go down any other way? She’s a woman – the planet’s half-populated with them. Find another to fuck over and carry on, you daft cunt._

He ran a hand over his face, his skin clammy. He was probably still sweaty from the show, but he felt odd, almost the way he’d felt when he was younger – afraid, uncertain, disappointed.

The haziness that surrounded him was interrupted by someone’s shrill laughter, the others joining in. Someone handed him his carry-on bag. Someone patted him on the back. Someone reminded him that his tranquilizer pills were in the bag and that he should take them soon. Russel shouted something, but Murdoc instead stared up at the side of the plane, the coldness of the night sighing against his skin like the kiss of death. Was he afraid of the flight? Was it Cal? Was he having a goddamn heart attack?

He placed his hand over his chest and gripped his shirt. The thudding of his pulse pounded at his ear drums. Someone touched his elbow.

“Niccals?”

Murdoc blinked.

“Are you still with us?” asked the familiar voice.

The hand closed around his elbow and turned him. Murdoc took a deep breath and stared down at Cal. She gave him a small smile.

“Did you take your pills?”

He shook his head.

“You probably should. Noodle said you get really bad anxiety on planes.”

He swallowed. “They’re in my bag.”

Cal waited. “Should I get them for you?”

He nodded and watched her crouch down as she searched the carry-on. Taking the bottle, she stood and held them out to him. She took a water bottle from 2D and handed it to Murdoc.

“Take your pills.”

Murdoc obeyed, staring down at her as he did so. The moment he swallowed, he capped the water bottle and handed it back to 2D.

“Give us a minute?”

2D nodded and followed everyone else onto the plane. Murdoc turned back to Cal.

“You’re not really going to take this small thing across the Atlantic, are you?” she questioned, chuckling quietly.

“We’ve a transfer at JFK. Cal,” he started, taking an awkward step towards her. He paused and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I mean, I forgot this night was coming. And I don’t ever forget things like that.”

“That’s real life.” She shrugged and forced another a chuckle. “We’re adults with adult lives and responsibilities. We knew what we were getting into, Niccals. The writing was on the wall from the start. In that abandoned hotel. This time we just upgraded to a Gorillaz show.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Look, I don’t wanna cry in front of you. I feel like I’ve done that too much for some old rock star I banged on his vacation. So maybe just give a girl a break, yeah? Get on that plane and have a kickass flight and a kickass tour.” She swallowed hard and looked away. “You got my number. I don’t know, text me if you want. Send me stupid stories from the road, especially if you swallow anything not edible.”

Murdoc’s lips parted. He laughed. “Those are all _my_ lines, you daft cow.”

Cal shoved him and laughed. “You can’t call girls cows in America, you fucking asshole. We take that very personally.”

“And here I thought you weren’t like every other girl.” He looked down at his feet. “You’re not.”

Cal smiled. She took him around the shoulders, pulling him into a tight, final embrace. “Thanks for everything, Murdoc,” she whispered into his ear. “Be safe.”

She let him go and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. Her tears fell anyway. “I’m sorry. It’s harder this time. There’s no taxi. Oh!” She gripped the zipper track of the leather jacket but before she could slip out of it, Murdoc shook his head, clasping his hand over hers.

“After all this time, with every goodbye, do you really think I’d take it back now?”

She blinked at him, unsure.

“I’m not holding you to any standards, ya know. No expectations. I know the reality of the situation. You’re a young, beautiful and talented woman with so much to offer. I’d be a fool to think for a moment that you’d chase this old man.”

“‘Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.’”

He smiled. “And you know, this old fool’s in demand.”

“I bet he is. By every other human in the world, he is. But like you said, Niccals – they’re not me.” She gave him a teary smirk. “Get your ass on the plane before they leave you and you become my problem for real.”

Murdoc chuckled and brushed a thumb across her tear-stained cheeks. “Some real cute freckles you have there, love.” He grabbed his carry-on and started to walk towards the ramp.

Cal watched him as Letí approached. She wrapped an arm around Cal’s shoulders and squeezed. They both stiffened when they saw Murdoc turn around.

“One more thing, little nerd: ‘I would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can imagination form a shape, besides yourself, to like of.’”

The grin sliced through the tear tracks on Cal’s face.

Murdoc waved his phone over his head, the screen lit. “I did have to look that one up. Hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar, amor.”

“Okay, for real, did you look that up, too?” Letí called back.

“No, actually. I really did learn a lot in Mexican prison, shit I never thought I’d use outside a jail cell. It’s quite nice.” He gave them a wink and climbed the ramp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of Part II, and here I am posting for the last time in 2018, as I strive to survive the madness of the holiday season and the impending onslaught of nieces and nephews that'll take over my house come tomorrow morning. Part III and chapter 13 are already in the works, eager to make their debut for 2019, but won't get any love until my family heads back to L.A., so I'll be M.I.A. for the next two weeks.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me and I hope the story has been entertaining so far. As always, all constructive feedback is welcome! Credit to Robin for her amazing editing contributions (Muds' nutsack quip was ALL HER, I take NO credit for that ~ it was a fucking beautiful gem of English!!)
> 
> I wish everyone a very happy and safe holiday season and new year, and if you decide to party, please don't drink and drive. I'll be happily secluded away from the Vegas strip with hopes to make it to midnight, but realistically, I'll probably be in bed by 10 because adulting has fashioned me this way ;p Cheers!
> 
> Chapter 12 Playlist:  
> Gorillaz, Gorillaz, Gorillaz - emphasis on "Tomorrow Comes Today"  
> Third Eye Blind - "I Want You"  
> Radiohead - "Daydreaming"  
> The Cure - "A Forest"  
> Depeche Mode - "Policy of Truth"  
> Nine Inch Nails - "Right Where it Belongs"  
> And some moody ambient tracks I found on YouTube, because it's getting real moody up in here ;]


	13. Chapter 13

**Part III.**

**Thirteen.**  

2D gingerly shut the door behind him and tiptoed down the short hallway towards the living room. The lingering echo of liquor frazzled his brain, transitioning from a high to a headache. His ribs hurt, and he was sure within the next hour he’d have colorful bruises to accompany the pain.

Noodle and Russel sat in opposite chairs before a muted television. 2D rounded the back of Noodle’s chair towards the couch. Without looking up, Noodle raised her hand above her head, two pills sitting on her palm. 2D swiped them up and dry-swallowed them, collapsing onto the couch before cringing at the fresh explosion of pain.

“Is he dead?” muttered Russel, eyes on the black-and-white film on the screen.

“He’s still breathing,” said 2D. “Put ’im on ’is side once he finally blacked out. Ya know. So ’e won’t choke.”

“For fuck’s sake, let him,” sighed Noodle, her head in her hand. “Maybe then we’ll have some peace.”

“It’s peaceful now.” 2D cast a hopeful smile between his bandmates, but it faded when neither of them looked at him. “I told ’im that last bottle wasn’t necessary.”

“And the three bottles before that, the shots, the E – _none_ of it after the _first_ bottle of whiskey,” Russel groaned. “I really don’t care what he does in his own time, but tonight was ridiculous.”

Noodle turned her head. The weight of the night made it difficult to prop it up. “Is anything broken?”

2D shook his head. “It’s odd, really. I’m used to the occasional punch or kick when ’e’s flat-out pissed and I’m trying to reel ’im in, but ’e’s never tackled me that way before. You’d think with age ’e’d be more fragile, less ’Ulk-like – but bloody ’ell did ’e come at me like an Acme rocket. And all I said was, ‘Oy, Muds, you mind that crack there or you’ll trip,’ and when ’e didn’t mind the crack and tripped, ’e tackled me. Swear I saw stars for a minute. Then again, I was on me back for a bit. Was probably just the beautiful London night sky.” He sighed deeply. “’E was doing so well.”

“After this tour, I say we commit his ass. We can trick him, plant a buncha shit on him, make him think we’re taking him to a bar, and then chuck him out the van right in front of the hospital. Sign off on a lobotomy or something.”

“Are lobotomies still a thing, Russ?”

“Who cares, D? We’ve got the money. They can bring it back just this once.”

“You’re both delusional,” Noodle sighed.

“I’m _not_ delusional – I’m sleep deprived. And D’s concussed.”

“Regardless, we can’t have Murdoc committed. He needs to be the one to help himself.”

“Muds ain’t gonna commit himself,” huffed Russel.

2D rested his head on the arm of the couch. “’E needs Cal.”

Noodle shot up and glared down at 2D. “ _Stop it_ , Stuart. Do not start with that. Cal can’t do anything for him. It was all a bandage.”

2D narrowed his eyes and picked his head up again. “You _saw_ everything, Noodle. You saw ’ow ’e was! Since they’ve been apart, it’s all been downhill.”

“You can’t expect Cal to be the reprieve every time he runs afoul. He’s better with her, sure, but that’s not our reality.”

Russel sat forward on the chair. “I’m telling y’all, we need an intervention – with doctors and nurses, and a SWAT team, preferably.”

Noodle massaged her temples. “You’re both wrong, I know it.”

“And how is doing nothing gonna help?” snapped Russel.

“Yeah!?” added 2D, a hard look on his face. “Sorry,” he added immediately, softer.

Noodle bit her lip, staring angrily between the two. “I – _I don’t know_. I don’t know what to do anymore, guys. I thought that this would be different, that maybe D’s plan was working, but … fuck, it’s like the aftermath is even worse than before. The partying night after night was fun at first, I won’t lie, but fuck … when’s the last time any of us slept? And the physical fighting when it’s time to end the evening and he doesn’t want to … I just, I can’t even think straight anymore.” She ran a hand over her face. “Has he spoken to Cal at all?”

“A few times, yeah. ’E told me that they were sending messages after we landed, and ’e’d sent ’er pics of our shows for a few weeks. I’ve called ’er a few times asking ’ow she’s been. Guess she’s been busy writing.”

“Letí mentioned she’s been reclusive lately,” added Russel. “She’s probably feeling the same way Muds is, but in a different kind of unhealthy way.”

“Do you think she’s the one pulling away?” Noodle asked.

Russel shrugged. “I told Letí to bring Cal when she comes out for the final part of this leg. Letí’s never been out this way. I want her to see Paris.”

“That’s still a month away …” Noodle broke off, and vehemently shook her head. “ _Oo, what am I saying_? Why are we having this conversation?”

2D looked at her. “Well, it all started when Russ asked if Murdoc was dead –”

“Don’t be thick, Stu,” snapped Noodle. “We weren’t supposed to get involved. We should be sleeping, and yet we’re sitting here like the Fates, fucking around with Murdoc’s destiny or something.”

She sighed in exasperation. “I’m off to bed.” She slid off the chair, avoiding the boys’ eyes as she dragged herself towards the hallway.

“Noodle Bowl.”

Russel’s voice startled her.

“I don’t like to see you go to bed angry. Should I make some popcorn and hot chocolate?”

Noodle hesitated. She wanted to stomp loudly as she passed Murdoc’s room in the suite, hoping that he’d wake and start yelling so that she could shut him down without mercy, so that she could yell back, even taunt him to come at her just so she could have the sweet satisfaction of pinning him to the ground or getting a few swift hooks into _his_ ribcage so that he and 2D would at least have matching injuries. Her arms trembled, her fingers squeezed into fists, and yet she could feel Russel and 2D’s eyes on her back. Taking a deep breath, Noodle turned around.

2D offered her a smile while Russel stared in concern.

“You know it’s not worth it.” His words wrapped around her, comforting her. “If you wanna sleep, fine, but –”

“I’d love popcorn and hot chocolate,” she interjected and gave them both a small smile. “There’s only a few more hours of night left anyway.” 

* * *

_The inside of the hotel stormed. Chunks of the second floor drizzled over the lobby. Pounding thundered from every direction, and the walls shook in the chaos. Rain from outside leaked through the planks, saturating the carpeting and bloating the dreary wallpaper. It crept up the rubber soles of his shoes and soaked into his socks, chilling his feet._

_Murdoc sat huddled near the reception desk, his arms over his head and his eyes transfixed on the exhausted planks of the hotel door, still barring way of the powerful terror beyond. It wouldn’t be long before the wood would bend under the onslaught, or else the relentless storm would erode what little strength was left._

_Shaking, Murdoc searched the rest of the lobby._

_“Cal?” he whispered. Lifting his head from under the shelter of his arms, he called out, “Cal!” but received no answer._

_Murdoc jumped to his feet and raced up the stairwell, water sloshing in his wake. His foot broke through one of the stairs midway, trapping him momentarily. In a panic, he tugged himself out of its grip and pressed on._

_At the stop of the stairwell, he stared down the elongated hall. Water ran down the walls, washing away the tacky wall décor. Clumps of acrylic and trails of watercolors seeped down the wallpaper from behind gaudy frames in cold, muted streams._

_Murdoc swallowed hard and moved forward, his shoes squishing into the carpet._

_“Cal.” His voice was dull, his attention absorbed by the environment around him. “Are you ’ere?”_

_His fingers glided along the walls, the sliminess of the wallpaper clinging to his skin. Murdoc glanced down as he rubbed his fingertips together, the hue of his skin tainted with paint._

**_Thunk!_**

_Murdoc snapped his head up. “Cal?” He hurried, splashing past abandoned rooms until he came to the door that’d slammed shut – Room13. He stared up at the placard, the plastic more yellowed and the numbers further faded since his last visit. His eyes fell to the doorknob. Water spurted out at him through the keyhole and from around the knob’s screws._

_His stomach turned to lead. With a quivering hand, Murdoc gripped the knob and turned it with ginger hesitancy. He pressed against it, trying to open it into the room, but it didn’t move. After a minute of futile exertion, he pulled instead and the door swung out with ease, displaying Room 13._

_Inside was an open ocean without any walls for furniture. The doorframe acted as a barrier between the reality of the room and the reality of the hallway._

_Confused, Murdoc surveyed the cross-section of calm water in front of him, filling the doorway to shoulder-height. A fish swam towards the barrier, blinking its black eyes up at him, then turned sharply and swam into the darkness._

_Murdoc reached out, cautious, and his fingers met with a cold, rubbery surface that gave as he pressed harder. His hand was enveloped in cold water. Withdrawing, he looked it over. It was dry. He brought his fingers to his lips, traced his tongue over them. Salty._

_A thunderous blow echoed from the direction of the stairs, terrorizing Murdoc. His fight-or-flight instincts drove him through the barrier, and the sea engulfed his body. The current gripped at his suddenly bare feet, tugging him downward. He clawed for the surface, and realized that he could see the octopus tattoo that decorated his forearm at his current age. He spared a glance down at his naked body, noting that he’d left his youth behind with his school uniform outside the barrier._

_Snapping his head back towards the distant surface, he tried to swim, but the pull wouldn’t release him. His heart punched against his ribs, the iciness of the depths weighing on him like an iron casket._

_“You should’ve just let me in.” The voice was quiet and unfamiliar. “Then maybe you wouldn’t be drifting away.” Voice – or voices? “Knowing you, you’d drift away anyway.”_

_So many voices …_

_His body relaxed and his muscles loosened. The surface faded from view as the navy blue encasing him turned to darkness. He was numb, the sensation of water dissipating until he was only an existence suspended in an endless void, the silence crushing him entirely._

* * *

Murdoc returned to consciousness. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he rolled over onto his back, his hand gripping his forehead, his skin clammy beneath his palm. The sheet next to him shifted. He winced, recognizing from memory that someone – most likely 2D – was sitting on the edge of the bed. He cracked a crusted eye in the still-dark room to confirm it.

2D offered him a worried grin, a steaming mug in one hand and a few pills in the other. The bastard had opened the curtains again, but the gloomy skies didn’t offer enough light to make it worth the effort of strangling him for it.

Murdoc furrowed his brow and that hurt. He opened his mouth and that hurt as well. Sighing, he managed to groan, “What’re you doing in ’ere?”

“Thought you might feel like death.” His words were quiet. “You look it. Brought you some tea and pain pills. Also left an eighth on the dresser there. Phil’s hit me up loads since we’ve been back, and ’e’s given us a friends and family discount again. Couldn’t pass it up.”

2D handed over the pills and tea, waiting silence while Murdoc tossed them down the hatch. The tea burned down his throat and ignited his insides.

“Thanks,” said Murdoc gruffly. He handed the mug back to 2D. He glanced at the dark circles under the singer’s eyes. “You look like hell yourself, mate.”

“Only ’ad a few hours of sleep. After we all got back … and you … you tackled me.”

“I did?”

2D nodded. He lifted his white undershirt up, exposing the deep purple bruising along his ribs.

“Holy fuck.” Murdoc sat up for closer inspection. “What happened last night?”

“Was all a rush, really. It’s been that way since we’ve been back. You got mad though. Tripped along the sidewalk and blamed me.”

Murdoc crossed his arms in defiance. “Tripped over your clumsy feet again?”

“No, Muds,” snapped 2D. “ _You_ did, but you got mad at me anyway. I won’t lie, it was nice not ’avin’ you mad at me while we were in California.”

Murdoc looked away. “Well, it’s back to reality, innit? We couldn’t stay in fantasy land forever.”

“I liked you better when we were.”

“Don’t be a git. You love the stage, Faceache.”

“Well of course. I meant I liked seeing you ’appy.”

“I am happy. I’m happiest when I play.”

“I like the _other_ ’appy, the one where we all felt like a family. The one Noodle considers normal.”

“Are you saying you’d give up the band for all that? Your fame, your lifestyle? Everything I’ve built for you?”

2D sprawled out next to Murdoc, resting his head on his hands and staring up at the cream-colored ceiling as he considered Murdoc’s words.

“It’s been a different kind of life from the one me mum and dad gave me, but I do love it. I love being with you guys. I love the fans and the fun we ’ave onstage. And I love seeing you lot in love with it, too.” He turned his head and looked up at Murdoc. “But one day we won’t ’ave a stage anymore, Murdoc. One day the lights’ll come on and the final curtain will drop, and we’ll be done.”

“The curtain would drop first and _then_ the lights would come on, idiot.”

“You get the idea. In whatever order it ’appens, it’ll ’appen, and when it does, we’ll need something else to do.”

“And what’s your game plan, then? What genius plot ’ave you?”

“I’ll return to the fair, I suppose. Me dad’ll be ’appy to ’ave the ’elp.”

Murdoc chuckled. “You’re an idiot. You needn’t work, you could live off your Gorillaz cash like a king.”

“Murdoc, you’ve spent all your money before.”

“True. Yeah, you’d be better suited for the service industry, I think. Your money’d be blown on ridiculous things. Kinder Eggs and zombie toys.”

“Maybe ’ave a zombie-themed set-up at the fair.”

Murdoc shook his head. “You’re a special breed of stupid, my friend.”

“Thank you,” said 2D. “And Russ will ’ave business opportunities and Letí. And Noodle, she’ll ’ave whatever creative endeavor she feels like. She’s a real talented soul.” He paused, and Murdoc gave him a tired, expectant look.

“Well, say it.”

“And you, Murdoc, what’ll you ’ave?”

“I know what I’ll have – money, booze, and a plethora of schemes up my sleeves. Murdoc Niccals doesn’t roll over so easily. The end of Gorillaz – which isn’t happening _any time soon_ – won’t mean the end of _me_. Until this brain ceases to function, my creative processes can’t die. I’m a bloody factory of innovation. It’s my burden, really.” Murdoc laid back and stared up at the ceiling. “But for shits and giggles, tell me what I’ll have, 2D. What is your ridiculous vision of my life post-Gorillaz?”

2D rested his hands on his chest, his stare matching Murdoc’s. “Well, I’d like to see you settled down. Not out of the limelight – can’t imagine you not onstage in some way.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said.”

“But I think you could be wif someone – maybe even married.”

“Do you actually believe someone like _me_ could be married?”

“Not really, no. But with the right person, anything’s possible.”

“Hm, and let me guess – good old Madge, perhaps? With a body like ’ers, she could whip me into shape.” He chuckled deviously.

“Was thinkin’ more like Cal.”

Murdoc quieted. “You’re bloody daft.”

“Do you love ’er?”

“Love is a subjective, nonsensical paradigm instilled upon society by idiotic Jesus-freaks to _breed_ armies of wee Jesus-freaks in order to ensure that their enslavement carries on so that future generations can continue to vex intelligent beings like me.”

“That’s all fine and well, but you didn’t answer my question. I’d prefer a yes or no. It’s simpler that way.”

 “The concept isn’t simple, 2D.”

2D turned on his side and propped his head on his palm. “Do you love Noodle?”

Murdoc gritted his teeth. “I’ve been to Hell and back for her, haven’t I?”

“And Russ? Me?”

“Does tolerating count?”

“Murdoc, do you love Cal?”

Murdoc turned away from him and glared out at the window. The skies were masked by gray, saturated clouds. “Go away, 2D, you’re exacerbating my headache.”

“I don’t mean to …” replied 2D, his tone even. He sat up. “I just wonder if she’s just another one of _those_ girls. But then I think about everything that’s ’appened and ask myself, ’ow can she be? There was nothing brief about it.”

He planted his feet on the floor and gripped the edge of the bed. “Those others, they knew it was temporary. They saw Murdoc Niccals, bassist of Gorillaz, fully aware of what they’d get. But Cal … she only knew Murdoc Niccals, random bloke from Stoke, who spent an entire month with ’er, slept at ’er ’ome, experienced ’er day-to-day. You two saw each other in a personal way, like normal people. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes, it means I’ve made a critical error with indulging your idiotic fantasies,” Murdoc snapped. “If you’re so inclined to seek such an answer, why don’t you find yourself a lovely drunken American and follow in my footsteps, eh? Lemme know how hard it crashes and burns due to the extraordinary circumstances that are your current profession.”

“Murdoc, I’m a lover of all things – people, bright lights, the dollar menu at McDonald’s, animals. The latter not in an illegal way, mind you, but what I’m trying to say is that there’s too much love in me for simply _one_ thing. That’s where you and I differ, actually. I could never be with just one person forever, no matter how perfect or beautiful. Not because I can’t commit, but because there’s so much of myself I wish to give to everyone. But you … I know that’s not the case for you.”

Murdoc muttered, “I’ve been with hundreds more women than _you_.”

“Well, of course. But _loving_ is entirely different. Me, I can love so many and move onto the next great thing. You, your devotion comes only with very few things. Your commitment to this band, to its people, to your music.” 2D scooted closer to him and gingerly placed a hand on Murdoc’s elbow. “I’ve seen you in love, Muds. You ’ave it in you, no matter ’ow ’ard it is for you to see it. I see it in the way you play, how passionate you are with El Diablo and ’ow protective you get over all this. It’s the same way you look at Cal.”

Murdoc tensed, frozen under 2D’s hesitant touch.

“It’s terrifying, I think, that all of this time and energy could be gone in a moment, much like my vertical position right before you tackled me to the ground. Fear or not, you still ’old on to it. It’s commendable, really. Couldn’t it be the same with ’er?”

2D released Murdoc and reached for the cell phone on the bedside table. He held it over Murdoc.

“Might be nice for ’er to ’ear from you. Whaddaya say?”

Murdoc saw the phone dangling over him out of the corner of his eye. Of course, he wanted to take it and dial her number. He’d love even more to Face Time her so that he could see her, too. The last they’d talked, she was busy with her book, and he couldn’t stay on long because he was about to go on stage. That’d been a couple weeks ago.

He’d received a couple of pictures from her, mostly of the beach or of her at the bar cradling a bottle of her beloved, shitty Corona. He’d meant to send some back, but he hadn’t been in the mood to take any selfies, nor did he have anything prolific to text, which seemed like a waste. There was only so many times he could ask how she was or what she was doing before it became a mundane routine, one which he didn’t want to endure. It wasn’t that he was bored, but rather was afraid of making it so by trying to save a dying flame with futile effort.

Yes, he thought of her every day. Those mundane questions passed through his mind all the time. And yes, he wished more than anything she’d simply call or text him all the things he felt too stupid to say, or that she’d somehow magically have a reason to come abroad and she’d tell him to meet her at that disgusting pub in Stoke, to which he’d gladly return just for a whiff of her milky vanilla lotion or to hear that obnoxious, unrestrained laugh of hers in person.

Yes, he knew more than anything that 2D _was_ right about them – that the gangly man-boy from Crawley spoke louder truths than either of them dared give voice, even though they both were fully aware of how they felt about each other.

There was no question any more in Murdoc’s mind that Cal _did_ feel _something_ for him. Her tearful face upon his departure revealed that truth even though her words were filtered through the screen of her bravery. And it was no secret that his emotions that night had gotten the best of him, putting ghis weakness on display for them all, no matter how hard he tried. No amount of liquor seemed to quell the emptiness he’d felt since that night, despite his efforts to drown it.

Still, he felt foolish for feeling so. She obviously didn’t hurt the way he did. Her texts seemed normal, as did her voice whenever they happened to speak to one another. In fact, she often sounded preoccupied.

 _That ruddy book_ , he internally sighed. _Just as committed to it as I’m to my music._

He suddenly missed the days when a female he’d enticed was wholly invested in him; when she tried too hard to nab his attention with her texts or by dolling herself up, how devoted she’d be to loitering backstage or by the cash bars at the after parties all in the name of having him at least once.

A smile crossed his lips. _Is this what it’s like to be the fan girl?_

He chuckled, his muscles relaxed as he seemingly melted into his mattress.

 _It’s utter shit but it feels so good_.

Murdoc rolled over and stared up at 2D. His shaggy hair was in desperate need of a trim, but the blue was vibrant, so much so that Murdoc was sure it was wiggling upon his head. Murdoc lifted a finger and flicked a spiky end, then laughed, and booped 2D’s nose.

“Y’know, you really are a handsome fuck, aren’t you, Stuart?”

2D’s eyebrows climbed on his forehead. “What’s this, Muds?”

“I mean –” Murdoc sat himself up, even though it seemed more of an effort than usual, and waved his hands ruefully, “not to insinuate anything. I know you swing in every direction like a goddamn tire swing – which is all fine and well, equal rights, you get it – but you really are a beautiful thing. Like the human embodiment of a … say … one o’ them marshmallow bunnies you get for Easter.”

2D beamed. “You think they’re beautiful, too?”

“Well now, they’re not _my_ cuppa tea, per se, but they’re cute and squishy and got those little sparkly sugar-gem things all over ’em, and in a pinch they’re quite lovely to eat. Really, I wish I ’ad some right now. They do bring a smile to my face.”

2D twitched his nose. He glanced at the empty mug on the bedside table and then back at Murdoc. He recalled the hand-written packaging of the tea, remembered that Phil saying it would help with 2D’s migraines. Special tea, he called it. _Really special, mate_ , he’d said specifically. It was pricey for loose-leaf tea, as well … _this really special tea he was sure he’d only poured into his own mug but was realizing that maybe this wasn’t the case because he’d been half asleep and on Facebook while making it._

“ _Fuck_ ,” said 2D. “I guess you don’t need that eighth right now, mate.”

Murdoc laughed. “Well, you wee bunny of diabetes, shall we give my old bird a ring? See what she’s up to?”

2D chuckled nervously. “Well now, mate, maybe in a bit, eh? Give, the, uh, tea time to settle a bit?”

Murdoc waved 2D’s words away with a limp flick of his wrist. “Nonsense! She’s my friend, she’ll want to know how I’m doing.”

Murdoc snatched the phone from 2D’s hand, and 2D fled to the living room where Noodle and Russel were snoring on the couch. Clutching the doorframe, he cleared his throat with overdramatic finesse.

“I’ve done something.”

Noodle rolled over and opened an eye. “The plunger’s under the sink.”

“No, no, it’s worse. I accidentally gave Murdoc my weed tea.”

Russel rubbed his eyes and yawned. “2D, go back to bed.”

“And he’s about to call Cal.”

Noodle and Russel were up instantly, Noodle shoving Russel aside as they both raced for the door.

“ _I want to see, I want to see, I want to see!_ ” She pushed past 2D and the three of them hovered in the doorway of Murdoc’s room as the phone rang through the speaker. Apparently he’d managed a video call.

“If this shit gets any kind of freaky though, I’m out,” Russel whispered.

“Same,” agreed Noodle.

2D swallowed hard, his fingers digging into the doorframe as Murdoc gave them an uncharacteristically genial grin before recalling his wandering focus back to the phone in his hand.

* * *

The strident ring of Cal’s phone broke the silence, and she jumped up, clutching her chest. She grabbed the phone, saw Murdoc’s name, and a wave of anticipation washed through her and left her trembling. She quickly swiped to accept the call.

His face filled the screen, eyes roving curiously in all directions until his lips curled, and she realized that it had taken him a minute to spot her. She returned this with a laugh.

“My, my – Murdoc Niccals. Didn’t expect to find you in my bed any time soon.”

He grinned. “On the contrary – no bed is complete without me in it.”

“Oh really? And what are you doing?”

“I’m in bed myself. Thought I’d give you a ring. See what my favorite American is up to on this lovely English morning.”

“Oo, she’s enjoying a lovely American morning – 3 o’clock in the morning, to be exact.”

“Is it really 3am? Well, that’s quite different.”

“It’s called time zones. Didn’t you have those back in your day?”

He snickered. “You cheeky vixen, you. Still the same sharp tongue that I adore so much.”

The heat rose in Cal’s cheeks. “How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better. Well, I could be, but … I’m alive, I’m rich and I’m a rock star. Can’t complain.”

“True. You also sound drunk.”

“I _was_ drunk a few hours ago. Now, I feel stunning.”

Cal cocked an eyebrow. “Are you something else now?”

“Well, I’ve had some sleep and some tea and some pills … and some lovely conversation with our dear singer. I feel smashing, really.”

“Pills? What kind of pills?”

“Ya know, funny thing – didn’t even look, love. I just swallowed.” He burst out laughing.

“Murdoc –” But before Cal could continue, Murdoc’s face blurred into a fuzzy distortion as the phone elevated with great speed, and suddenly 2D was in the frame. He offered her a short wave and toothy grin.

“Sorry, Cal, just wanted to quickly add that Murdoc is, unfortunately, high due to a teensy mistake on my end. ’E ’ad a pain pill for ’is ’eadache as well.”

“Oh!” Cal started to laugh.  “He’s high?”

“Yeah.” 2D scratched the back of his head. “The, uh, tea I gave ’im was medicinal.”

She heard Murdoc demand the phone back from 2D, who quickly waved again, and Cal watched as Murdoc came back into view.

“Oh, he’s such a bloody _bore_ , love, I do apologize.”

“You, sir, are ridiculous.”

Murdoc smirked. “Go on, tell me what else I am.”

Cal bit her lip. “Are you really going to try that with everyone listening in?”

She watched Murdoc shoot a glare away from the phone before everything went dark, and he yelled at everyone to leave. She heard a door snap shut before he came into view again.

“Now, love, where were we?” He gave her an overexaggerated wink.

Cal smiled at him, touched the screen with her fingertips. “You were in London and I was in Venice.”

He shook his head. “I was talking more along the lines of –”

“Murdoc, how are you? How is the tour going?”

He shrugged. “It’s going great, actually. Though, the weather’s cold. Not like the weather there.” He paused. “Want to hear something funny? The other night, at the bar, I called the bartender Cal. Completely accidental. We were chatting and I was telling her about Albert from The Pig and how he was giving you shit about everything you were ordering, and she mentioned that she had stocked up plenty of Corona, and I said to ’er, I said, ‘Stuff it, Cal, shit tastes like piss.’” He laughed. “She was so confused, and I apologized and carried on, but I was like, did I really just call her Cal? I mean, what was I thinking?”

“About me.”

His laughter quieted. “Well, of course.” Again, he paused. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Oh really? What were you doing all alone in the dark at 3am?” Again, he winked.

Cal giggled. “I was proofreading some things. I haven’t been sleeping well, honestly. Sleep schedule’s all off.”

He sat up, suddenly serious. “Is everything alright? Are you well?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I just … I don’t know, my mind won’t shut off. But it’s been a steady flow of writing, so it’s nice.”

“You really must get some rest though. I could send you to a spa. A nice one. Maybe you need a vacation.”

Cal laughed. “I think I’ve had two vacations already this year, both of which you’ve been a part of.”

“Then why not another?”

“Because I have responsibilities.”

Murdoc waved this away. “ _Please_. Where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s not always fun, Murdoc, you know that. We gotta work, too.”

“But your work could be mobile, couldn’t it?”

“It’s not as simple as that. Theoretically, yes, but I’d need space and quiet to think and write.”

“I could give you that.”

“No, you couldn’t.” It was quietly spoken, but the words felt true as they fell from her lips.

“I’m Murdoc Fucking Niccals. I could do whatever I want.”

Cal shook her head, waiting for him to get it.

“You don’t want to?” he asked, his expression growing defensive.

 _Way to go, Cal. Fix this before he convinces himself you don’t want him any more._  

“It’s because you’re Murdoc Fucking Niccals that I wouldn’t have space or quiet.” She licked her lips and looked away. “If I came out there, I’d only want to be with you.”

On his side of the world, Murdoc felt relief, followed by a curious mixture of elation and agony as her words tore through his body.

“That’s true,” he managed to say. “We’d … distract each other.”

“I’d never want to do that to you. Your work means so much.”

“Likewise.” He nodded, mostly to himself. “You’re a real artist, love. Like me. Probably too much so.”

In her room, Cal turned onto her side, gripping the phone with one hand and the pillow under her head with the other. The silence between them grew as she watched Murdoc lay back against his wooden headboard, his previous giddiness gone. She felt terrible.

“Hey, can I read you something? I wrote it. It’s gonna be in the book.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

He watched her reach out of view, and then some printer paper appeared at the bottom of the screen. Several strands of her dark hair fell along the curve of her face, and his eyes traced her cheek and her jaw on the screen, the solid reality of the glass between them a confusing contrast for his fuzzy senses. The soft arch of her eyebrows hovered over tired brown eyes, which strained to keep certain secrets from him.

Then, he found her lips as they began to move:

 “Find me

As though your life

Depends upon it

As though the sun

May never rise again

As though nothing else

Exists but us

 

Find me

In the deepest ocean

As though you know

How to swim

As though you’re bravest

Even as you tremble

As though you know

How this will end

 

Find me

And maybe then

This void will close

And all the words

We’ve yet to say

Will write themselves

As though we have control

Over such a foolish thing

 

Find me

As though you truly

Mean it.”        

She sat the paper aside, her gaze struggling to find his, but instead she caught him wiping his eye with the back of his hand.

“Can I say something utterly honest, and you can’t read too much into it, yeah?”

“Are you crying, Niccals?”

“Fuck you. Absolutely not.”

Cal rolled her eyes. “Ask your question.”

“Are you speaking to me when you read me these poems? Is your book one long love letter to me?”

“How presumptuous of you.”

“It’s an honest question, love. Take it how you want it.”

“Likewise – take the poem how you want it.”

He narrowed his eyes and smacked his lips. “Touché. Your future beau has a world of trouble ahead of ’im, what with that sass of yours.”

“He’ll only be my future husband if he can keep up with me.”

“You know, if it doesn’t work out between you and ’im, I wouldn’t mind the job. I could find joy in arguing with you for the rest of my life. I’m decent at it with the rest of the band, anyway. But with you, I’d get all the _good_ benefits. Like sex. I’m talking about sex.”

Cal chuckled and he drank it up, captivated by her reaction.

“When aren’t you talking about sex? I would’ve thought you’d be covered there, what with you being a rock star and all.”

“Ah, well, since California I’ve decided to become celibate, actually. You see, I’m looking into becoming a monk or a priest or whatever the hell kind of person does that sort of rubbish. That is, until the _right_ one comes along. Then it’s a one-way ticket to pound-town, love! And I’m the fucking conductor!”

“ _What the fuck are you even talking about_?” Cal managed to get between laughs. 

“ _You_ , I’m talking about _you_ ,” Murdoc said into the phone’s speaker. “Jesus, Cal, is it so hard to be honest?”

“Are you being honest, or are you being high?”

“Why can’t it be both? Just tell me if that poem’s about me. If _any_ of ’em are about me.”

Cal stared at him through the phone screen. “You’ve been my muse, Murdoc, yes.”

“If that’s the case, why don’t we talk more? Why don’t you come here when Letí and Russel have their big reunion towards the end of the month?”

Cal’s eyebrows went up. “Letí’s going to visit you guys?”

Murdoc blinked at her. “Oh shit, was that supposed to be a surprise, or a secret …?”

“I don’t know – was it?”

Shifty-eyed, Murdoc offered a rueful smile. “Come to Paris with Letí, then?”

Cal sighed. “Paris, huh? Last time I was there, I was too miserable to enjoy it very much. Mostly I holed up in my hotel, trying to coax my creative spirit back out of hiding.”

“It’s actually decent if you give it a chance. The women aren’t nearly as hairy as people think. And that’ll give you the rest of the month to focus on your love chronicles about me. Just be generous when describing my wang, he’s been through a lot.”

“That is so disgusting.” Cal shook her head.

“But it made you laugh.”

“It did, yes.” She paused. “I love to laugh.”

“I love to hear you laugh.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you like the fucking deserts miss the rain.”

“I’m slightly impressed you know that song.”

“The 90s weren’t all bad. And some of it was so bad it was good.”

“Are we dreaming all this?”

“Could be. I’m high as hell and you’re probably delirious from sleep deprivation. Is it a good dream, at least?”

“The best.”

Murdoc grinned. “Yeah … it is.”

“Do you really want me to go to Paris?”

“I want you … to do what you want. I love your company. Honestly. I understand if your book needs your attention, though. It’s where your heart is, and I respect that. But I’ve grown rather fond of you, Cal. All that California sunshine has corrupted my brain, and now all I think about when I jerk off is you in that little bikini of yours.”

“But I thought you were celibate?”

“So I’m not perfect.”

“What am I going to do with you, Niccals?”

His playfulness dissipated. “Why not come here and tell me?”

They stared at each other for a moment before Cal sighed and closed her eyes.

“Do me a favor?” she whispered. “Will you play me something so I can try to sleep?”

“Right – stay right there, don’t fall asleep just yet!” He dropped the phone in the sheets and ran across the room towards his heap of luggage. Sliding El Diablo’s case aside, he grabbed an acoustic guitar 2D had left in his room earlier and hauled it back to the bed. Retrieving his phone, he saw Cal laying there, a hand over her eyes that didn’t hide the tears that were falling.

Without commenting, he propped the phone up on the pillow and began to strum the opening chords of “Moonlight Mile,” slowing it down to match the rhythm of her breathing that whispered from his phone speaker. After a while, she told him that it was beautiful with lips that hardly moved, and her hand slipped to her bedding, revealing her relaxed, sleeping face.

Murdoc strummed on, his own being heavy and distant, as though all of him would soon slide off his bones into a puddle and evaporate into nothingness. And when his fingers became too heavy, he reluctantly turned to the phone and ended the video call, and she was gone.

He sat the guitar down and moved his cement-like legs over the edge of the bed. Like working against the drag of water, he waded towards the glass-paned French doors, reaching out for the packet of cigarettes nestled into a jacket on top of his luggage as he passed.

He took hold of both doorknobs and pulled them open, the chill of London engulfing him as he stepped out onto the balcony above the busy street. His illusionary tide spilled out over the ground below, unbeknownst to the motorists and pedestrians going about their lives beneath him. Murdoc took a long drag from his cigarette, heating his lungs while the rest of him numbed, and clung to the railing to keep himself upright. The chilled iron seared a brand into his palm but he didn’t withdraw his grip, welcoming a sting of pain to break the numbness as he exhaled, the gray cloud from his mouth catching in a breeze and dissipating entirely.

* * *

After their show that night, they packed up their belongings and attempted to find sleep in the van as it made its way to Birmingham. Murdoc sprawled out along the entirety of a bench seat, using one of his duffle bags as a pillow, and thumbed through his Twitter account while sipping defiantly on a bottle of peppermint schnapps as Damon and Jamie had refused to let him hit the bar “for an hour or two” before taking off.

“When’ve you _ever_ only been at a bar for an hour or two, Muds?” Jamie had teased from the front seat of the van.

“No, he’s right,” Russel agreed. “He’s there for an hour and then leaves to hit up the next bar, and the next.”

“This is bloody slavery, it is,” Murdoc had muttered as he prepared his nest in the backseat. “You should be most upset about this,” he’d snapped at Russel, whose only answer was an exasperated eye roll.

“This is what you bloody wanted, Muds,” Damon reminded him, before they all fell into their regular road routines.

Around 1am, they checked into the hotel and headed upstairs, where Murdoc threw his bags into the closest room and proclaimed he’d be downstairs at the bar for an emphasized _hour or two_. Jamie and 2D both opted to join him, while Noodle, Russel and Damon all retreated for bed, the adrenaline from the show having spent itself on the road.

Jamie only lasted a half hour before heading back up, and a half-hour, 2D had attempted to bid Murdoc good night as well, but Murdoc had caught his wrist and begged for him to stay for one last drink, assuring Stuart he’d get him a tea.

2D yawned and leaned against Murdoc’s arm, mechanically sipping his strangely sweet tea from a highball glass, while he scoured the internet on his phone and listened to Murdoc blabber on in an incoherent stream.

Struck by an errant thought that swam through his tired brain, 2D gave it voice without hesitation. “Y’know, I can’t recall seeing you actually sober as of late.”

“Iss-ole been a rush, innit? Time flies, n flies like-eh, eh bastard raven – just off, never looking back.”

“I’m really tired Murdoc, and this tea wasn’t even hot. Look – it’s got bloody ice cubes in.”

“That’s ’ow they do it in Long Island, mate. Bloody, fucking Americans.” He sniggered and poured more whiskey between his lips.

“This isn’t fucking tea a-tol, is it? You fucking prick, you’ve conned me.”

Murdoc slammed his hand down on the bar top and bellowed, “I’m fucking _terrible_ , mate – I _gotchu_ , you little fish on my ’ook!”

2D picked his head up and narrowed his eyes at him. “I’d be angry if this wasn’t so tasty.”  

“You fucking love it, admit it.”

“I just said it’s tasty.” He took another sip. “Don’t ’ave to ’ave a big ’ead over it. You tricking me isn’t some accomplishment after all these years.”

Murdoc wiped his nose with the back of his hand and leaned on his elbows on the bar. “Well, excuse me fir wanting to show you a good time, _Faceache_.”

“A good time? All you’ve done is gone on about is ’ow great the show was, and then ’ow Damon ’ates you and won’t come drink wiff you because ’e’s jealous of all the girls you get – which I’ve never seen ’appen – and you’ve told me three times already about ’ow you called the bartender Cal back at our show in Amsterdam – which I know because I was _there_. I was the one ’oo told the lady she wasn’t as pretty as Cal, and she tossed a drink at me face, which _you_ laughed about.”

2D gave an aggravated yawn and then tilted his head as he realized something. “Y’know, you ’aven’t mentioned that bit since it ’appened. You’re always on about the Cal part.”

“Well that was the funniest part, you see, the part when _I_ screwed up. You always screw up, it’s not as funny.”

2D cocked an eyebrow and turned on his stool to face Murdoc. “Will you just bloody tell ’er already?”

“Tell ’er what, exactly?”

“That you’re in love wiff ’er. She deserves to know.”

Murdoc chortled into his glass and downed the last of it. “She wrote me a poem, ya know?” He eyed 2D. “You know ’ow many of ’em do that?”

“All of ’em?”

“And how many do it well?”

“Thirty-seven percent?”

“Uno, amigo. Solo _uno_.”

“I don’t remember that bit in Star Wars.”

Murdoc patted him harder on the shoulder than 2D cared for. “I hope she comes to Paris with Letí.” He tossed some money on the bar.

“And what would you even say to ’er? You can’t even say shit to me, and I’ve told you plenty that you should say you love ’er.”

“Oh, that _ruddy word_.” Murdoc stuck his tongue out at 2D and stood from the bar. “Alright you lush, you done?”

2D gripped the bar and tried to stand on wobbling feet. “I’m pissed off my rocker, obviously. ’Elp me to the room, eh?”

“Only if you agree to let me shack up – can’t remember where my bed is.”

“Fine – I’ll lead, you walk us.”

“That sounds like a terrible plan.”

“You’re the car, I’m the GPS – just bloody ’urry, me legs are like marshmallow straws.”

Murdoc snickered and pinched his nose. “You wee marshmallow bunny!”

“Sod off and walk!”

Unsteady, they managed to make it to the lift, 2D’s arm draped across Murdoc’s shoulders while Murdoc laughed and cracked jokes about everything they passed. When they finally staggered up to 2D’s room, he asked Murdoc a final time if he wanted to go to his own room, which was literally next door. Murdoc yawned in response and let his knees sag, causing them both to tumble through the door as 2D keyed them in, and the two of them dragged themselves to the bed.

“Window or door?” 2D asked tiredly as they struggled out of their street clothes, leaving them both in their briefs.

“Door.”

2D wasn’t surprised. The answer was always “door,” which actually translated to “the majority of the bed,” leaving 2D to either mash himself along Murdoc’s back if he wanted to maintain some piece of the mattress or build himself a makeshift bed on the floor out of relinquished pillows. Either way, Murdoc was afforded easy access to the door so he could escape before 2D awoke, and claim that he was just fine in his room by himself, and definitely didn’t need 2D’s aid or comfort.

It was ridiculous. He couldn’t understand why Murdoc would be so ashamed of asking for help or company, especially from him. Whether or not Murdoc would ever admit it, they’d shared a lot, especially in the darkness of 2D’s hotel rooms. He often wondered why Murdoc treated these moments like a dirty little secret. But it always followed the same pattern, and after all these years, 2D just rolled with it.

He climbed onto the bed, clinging to the edge as Murdoc mirrored him, but this time, instead of the slippy sprawl of nerveless limbs and ice-cold feet 2D was accustomed to, Murdoc remained on his side. 2D fought gravity and the siren call of oblivion to pick up his head up and look over his shoulder. Noticing Murdoc’s shivering shoulders, he tossed the comforter in his direction. Without acknowledging the gesture, Murdoc seized the end of it and wrapped himself up while 2D gathered the sheet and did the same, staring in exhaustion at the window.

“If only our fans could see us now,” he mused quietly.

“Fuck, if _Cal_ could. You know what I’d say to ’er?”

Surprised, 2D looked back again. “What would you say?”

Murdoc responded but 2D couldn’t understand.

“‘Sonar Telepathy’?”

“ _Twenty-three_. Sonnet Twenty-Three.”

2D turned back to the window, confused. “Well, good night, then.”

“You’re a git, hermano. Pero estas mi estupido.”

“Whatever you say, Muds. Whatever you say.”

Murdoc suddenly sat up and shook 2D violently. “Where’re we tomorrow?”

2D pulled himself away and glared. “ _Birmingham._ Then off to Manchester, then Glasgow.”

Murdoc settled back down, breathing heavily. “You think we’ll ’ave time for The Pig?”

2D eyed him, his expression softening as he realized what Murdoc was talking about. He gave Murdoc a brief smile.

“I’ll make sure of it, even if it’s just me and you.”

Murdoc nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard and turned to the door again. 2D faced back to the window, suddenly awake. It was only when Murdoc began to snore loudly behind him that he finally settled and found sleep.

* * *

“Well, well, well – look who finally crawled out of her hole.”

Cal flipped Letí off as she approached the table. The Thai restaurant around them was boisterous, the smell of basil and turmeric overloading her senses and making her stomach growl. She was hungry.

She sat down out across from Letí, pushing aside the plastic menu – she knew what she wanted – and took a moment to give her friend a once-over after her own self-imposed isolation.

She was, as usual, iniquitously gorgeous and put-together, wearing a royal-blue-piped canary yellow off-the-shoulder blouse that complimented her skin tones in a way that Cal could never hope to pull off. This dazzling display across the table outshined (without question) Cal’s worn Depeche Mode crop-top and black leggings.

Letí crossed her arms, unfazed by the scrutiny. The large gold hoops in her earlobes skimmed her exposed shoulders, catching the light as her posture shifted.

“Was beginning to think you were dead,” she added drily.

“If you really thought that, you’d visit.”

“Uh-uh. I smell enough dead fish daily without coming around your rotting ass.”

Cal chuckled. “Pendeja, tell me how you really feel.”

They both paused to order as their waitress arrived with two Thai iced teas.

“I really feel like you need a vacation,” Letí continued, unfolding a cloth napkin along her lap.

Cal leaned forward and rested her chin on her fist, overexaggerating her nod. “Let me guess – you’d like me to vacation in … Paris?”

Letí narrowed her eyes. “Fucking bitch-ass viejito. Can’t keep that green mouth shut, can he?”

“Oh no, he keeps it shut _a lot_. I did get an earful, though, last night when he was higher than a stack of your tostónes. And that’s fucking high.”

“Big deal, so I was gonna steal you away. You need it, obviously.”

“ _Obviously_ , I’ve been working.”

“Take it with you, Buk. It’s not like some time away with your boy toy is gonna ruin it – in fact, it might help.”

Cal rolled her eyes.

“No. Nope. Don’t do that. When do I _ever_ make rash decisions like this? _Neh-ver_. So your ass better be ready to go. For once, you’re _my_ goddamn sidekick, and I am going to Paris, France. It ain’t Paris in the spring time, but it’s motherfucking Paris, nonetheless. And I get to see my honey, and you get to see yours, and we all live happily ever after. The end. Bam. Book written.”

Letí grabbed her glass of Thai iced tea and took a sip.

“You are fucking crazy,” Cal chuckled.

“No,” returned Letí as she set her glass down, “I’m _living_. For once, I’m doing things. I’m not saying you’re not, but I’m seeing this reclusiveness too much lately, and it’s starting to concern me, so I’m saying we’re gonna go. Let’s get some air and then you can come back and drown yourself in wine and cervezas and die and get super rich off your postmortem success and leave your empire to me to manage.”

“That’s exactly how I was hoping this would all play out.”

“Good.” Letí took the plate of shrimp spring rolls the waitress brought and sat it between them. “Coma. Te ves como muerto.”

“Gracias, doña Rivera,” Cal scoffed.

“When has _your_ mother ever offered to drag your ass to Paris?” she retorted, dipping a spring roll into the spicy-sweet sauce.

“Ha, like she would! If my sister asked her, maybe. But me – she’d send my ass to Reynosa to build houses before ever offering to take me abroad.”

“Why can’t our mothers just be happy for us? At least _lie_ about it and then talk shit behind our backs like normal parents?”

“Right? You _own_ things. The restaurant, your pad in Pedro. My mom acts like I’m some back-alley heroin addict, living in squalor and writing books that promote self-abuse and heathenism.”

“Mine ain’t that bad, but they’re still upset about the divorce. My mom really wants nietos.”

“Just because you aren’t with Miguel doesn’t mean you won’t ever have kids. If you even want to.”

Letí twirled the straw in her tea absently. “I do. Maybe one day.”

“Maybe with … Russ?”

Letí smirked. “I’m not even thinking that way right now. I’m living for _me_ , remember? I wanna take this slow, make sure we’re both in the same place emotionally.”

“Girl, Russ would marry you in a heartbeat. I see the way he looks at you – the way you _should_ be looked at.”

Letí’s smirk softened, her face illuminating from some unshared memory.

Cal continued, “I bet your parents will forget about Miguel in a heartbeat, should you ever take Russ to the DR to meet them.”

“I think so, too.” Letí gave her a serious look. “Do you think you’d ever let your parents meet Murdoc?”

Laughter burst from Cal’s lips, and she clapped an apologetic hand over her mouth as other patrons gave her curious glances. She leaned in and said quieter, “First of all, I don’t even know what Murdoc and I are. Secondly, _never_. Thirdly, the longer I can stay away from my parents, the better. So, I’ll keep up the back-alley heroin addict guise because I get invited to less shit this way.”

“Ay, loca, that’s bullshit and you know it. They want you around. You just need to set some boundaries.”

“Oh, sure, lemme just tell my mom and pop _how_ they should handle _their_ kid and see how that plays out.”

“Are you listening to yourself? You don’t know where you and Murdoc stand, you won’t talk to your parents about the way they treat you … there’s a common denominator here, babe. _Silence_. All of your guys’ unwillingness to speak. Maybe if you tried doing it, shit would actually happen the way you want it.”

Cal cocked an eyebrow while the waitress placed their entrées before them.

“Look, I’m just saying, because no one else is gonna. Cal, you’ve spent so much time working on your grief over your tía Lily, but you’ve neglected the actual root of your issues. How do you build the house you want on a broken foundation? Unless you wanna walk away and start over …”

She reached across the table and placed a hand over Cal’s. “Babe, you know I’ll support whatever you do, but I really think it would help you if you dealt with this. I can see how it bothers you. You write about it so much. Even if you walked away, they’d still be there, in your words, affecting you.”

“It’s not that easy, Letí. At least your parents respect you enough to listen to what you have to say. At least they still call you mija even when shit doesn’t go the way they want. They still see the beauty in you, no matter what. If I don’t conform, I’m not a Rivera.”

Letí’s thumb stroked Cal’s knuckles. “Well, maybe we should focus on the now. Murdoc. Your book. And whenever you’re ready to figure out what to do about your parents, I’ll be here to help in any way I can. Even if that means showing up to dinner with you as your Satanic lesbian lover you met in a dungeon in South Central.”

Cal chuckled and squeezed Letí’s hand, but her smile dimmed. “I don’t know how Lily did it, growing up with my mom. She cracked jokes about her all the time, how tightly wound my mom is. Sometimes I think my mom killed her.”

“I think Lily’s death is far more complicated than that.”

“She must’ve contributed.”

“Maybe. But we can’t go back. What’s done is done, and Lily wouldn’t want you to linger. I know she’d want you to go about things differently than she did. If she’d had your strength, I think she would’ve sought help.” Letí stared into Cal’s eyes. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll make it alright.”

Cal nodded, clinging tightly to her hand.

* * *

Later that night, as she sat cross-legged amongst the pages strewn across her bed, Cal stared down at her phone at Murdoc’s contact on her phone, wanting to reach out to him, but she didn’t know what time it was, wherever he was, or if he was busy or hungover. She couldn’t make herself tap the blurred photo she’d sneaked of his face, but she couldn’t focus on the book any more for the night, either. Instead, she dropped the phone onto the sheet and gathered up her work, dropping it into a shuffled pile on the floor. She took a final glance at the phone. It as 9:03pm.

In the kitchenette, she boiled a pot of water. Digging through her cupboard, she found the box of English Breakfast she’d bought for Murdoc while he was in town and made herself a cup. She padded barefoot to the front door and crossed the cooled asphalt of the strand. The breeze caught her hair as he toes curled into the cold sand, whipping it back as the waves crashed in the dark before her.

The mug warmed her hands, a small imagined glow against the vast space stretching out in front of her. She brought it up to her lips and took a tiny sip, breathing in the faintest hint of salt as the English Breakfast warmed her from the inside until she could imagine she was glowing as well.

* * *

At 5:10am, Murdoc stumbled across The Pig, ignoring Albert’s curses as the bartender pocketed the small fortune in crumpled bills that he’d left on the bar. Lifting his head as he reached the door, he watched it crack open, the faintest hint of light sneaking through, a blurry figure silhouetted within it. Murdoc smiled and reached for it, but upon closer inspection it resolved itself into 2D, who took hold of his arm and pulled him out into the cold Stoke-on-Trent morning.

The cab 2D had called idled at the kerb, but when he tried to help Murdoc in, Murdoc pulled away and asked him for a smoke first. Exhausted and drunk, 2D opted to pass out in the backseat while he waited.

Murdoc lit up the cigarette as the early morning drove cold fingers beneath the collar of his jacket, sending a shiver down his spine. He turned away from the draft, his eyes falling to the bush beside the door of the bar. The bush Cal had thrown up into.

He pulled out his phone and found her number, called it and reached her voicemail. His heart raced as her voice asked him to leave a message and assured him she’d get back to him as soon as she could. He wanted to hang up, he didn’t want to talk – he was hammered. But the sound of her voice made something inside him ache, and he wanted her to know that he existed, that he was at the place they’d first met.

The seconds ticked away as the voicemail message came to an end, and Murdoc as his panicking mind argued about what to do. Finally, the tone sounded, and he made his choice.

“’Ey, love, Niccals ’ere … well, you must be asleep, but I just … I just wanted to send you a pic. Guess where I am when you get it. Hope it makes you laugh … made me think of you. Anyway, should you feel inclined … I’m still awake. Somehow. Gonna head to the hotel … talk soon, eh?”

His phone beeped a descending tone as he hung up, snapping a picture of the bush and sending it before sliding the phone into his back pocket. Taking a final drag off his cigarette, he dropped it and ground it out with his heel, its dying embers in the growing light filling him with whiskey-induced melancholy. He flipped up his collar against the chill and stumbled into the back of the cab. 2D was already snoring against the opposite window.

As the cab drove back towards Manchester, Murdoc slumped into the worn seat and stared out the window as civilization awoke and creaked into action. The words of his voicemail replayed in his head again and again until his eyelids became so heavy and everything dimmed away.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2019! I'm here, you're here, and you've made it to Part III of this short-story-turned-novel (I swear, this wasn't supposed to be an epic but alas, we're here now, and I can't always help the decisions this fictional characters make - and it's only getting worse. Spoiler: I've deleted so many potential scenes in chapter fifteen because I'm like, what are you fake people doing?!).
> 
> Anyway, I present you with a polished chapter thirteen, and I'd like to point out the EXTREME effort Robin made in describing Leti's blouse towards the end. I gave her a random note about it in the first draft, she questioned it, I sketched it to offer better detail, and she translated that into the beautiful description we have here because I am in no way a fashionista and don't have a clue how to properly describe the anatomy of a blouse, so there you have it. 
> 
> Here's some shameless self-promotion: if you're into smutty shit, I just recently uploaded a short (I promise) fic about Murdoc, Cal and *ahem* Ace called "Angles," for your reading pleasure. It is explicit, so take heed. Robin also edited that one, too. I wanted to incorporate Ace because "Foundations" takes place before him joining Gorillaz, and all of the amazing fan art and Jamie's interpretation of him are just fab, and I'm still deciding how far into the Gorillaz timeline I'm going to taint, so he needed some kind of appearance in my universe.
> 
> Chapter Fourteen is currently being edited and will be up soon. As always, comments, questions, concerns, cursing at my terrible Spanish (and future attempts at other languages) - they're all welcome! Thank you so much for reading :D
> 
> Chapter Playlist:  
> "Waves" - Naxatras  
> "The Message" & "The Trip" - Still Corners  
> "Moonlight Mile" & "Time Waits for No One" - The Rolling Stones  
> "A Minute to Breath" & "Right Where it Belongs" - Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross/Nine Inch Nails


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